


The Flame Still Burns

by Disasteriffic_Kaz



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Case Fic, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-09 23:00:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3267557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Disasteriffic_Kaz/pseuds/Disasteriffic_Kaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With barely time to rest after the events with the shtriga, Dad sends the boys new coordinates and sets them on a seemingly simple haunting that may be more than they can handle. Tag to 1x18 "Something Wicked" hurt/comfort/awesome!Sam/Dean</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: I'm working on getting my bearings back here. Grief is a bitch, basically, lol. I know I still have a few reward stories left to write and I hope getting this going will get my writing back where it needs to be. :D And thank Janice for brainstorming the events at the end of the chapter with me. I was a little stuck, needed some mayhem to get things moving again and she came through, like she always does! 
> 
> Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :D– Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.  
> **Follow me on Facebook as "Disasteriffic Kaz" for frequent fic updates or just to chat!  
> ~Reviews are Love~

_ **-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

 

_ I live a life that's surreal _

_ Where all that I feel I am learning _

_ Oh life, has been been turned on the lathe _

_ Reshaped with a flame that's still burning _

_ And in time, it's all a sweet mystery _

_ When you shake the tree of temptation _

_ Yeah and I know the fear and the cost _

_ Of a paradise lost in frustration _

_ ~Foreigner: _ _ The Flame Still Burns _

 

_ **Chapter 1** _

 

Dean stood at the counter, waiting to pay the bill and turned his head enough to see his little brother still sitting at the booth. He looked like hell, though Sam was doing a good job of trying to hide it. Dean shook his head and looked away before Sam caught him watching again. Like Dean wasn't going to notice the way Sam pushed his food around and barely ate any of it or how flushed his pale face was.

“Get ya' anythin' else, sugar?”

Dean looked up at their waitress and smiled. She was short and red-haired and curvy in all the right ways, and if it weren't for the fact his brother was coming up sick, he'd do his best to get her into a motel room somewhere and rock her world. Dean sighed. “Naw, that's it.” He handed over a twenty and gave her his best smile, grinning as her face flushed and her lips parted. Oh, he really wished he didn't have a damn conscience. He turned away with a sad sigh for a missed opportunity and went back to the table.

“You done pretendin' to eat so we can get back on the road?” Dean lightly punched his brother's shoulder and smirked when Sam glared up at him.

“You're not funny,” Sam said as he rose and tossed his napkin over his nowhere near empty enough plate.

“Dude, I'm hilarious. You have no sense of humor.” Dean gave him a gentle nudge toward the door and tossed one last wicked grin at the still-dazed waitress before he followed Sam outside with a chuckle.

Sam strode down the parking lot toward the Impala and swallowed hard several times to avoid the cough he could feel building. If Dean heard that, he'd have no peace. He rolled his eyes and ducked his head as a cold wind blew up and into his face. For someone with a rule about no chick flicks, Dean could be frustratingly smothering when it came to Sam and sickness.  After the recent events with the shtriga and all the memories that had stirred up for Dean, Sam was certain that this time around his hovering would be even worse that usual. Those memories that Dean had shared with him for the first time ever during the hunt had given him some new insights into his brother that he still had not fully processed. He had always known Dean had been the one looking after him far more than their father, and Dean was the one that Sam would run to for comfort when sick or hurt, but he had not fully realized just how overwhelming that responsibility must have been for Dean, especially in light of their lifestyle and the dangers that lurked around every corner. Not to mention how completely unfair it was for his brother, still a young child himself, to have to bear that kind of responsibility.   
  
Sam shook himself free of his reflections with a bit of effort. “Where we going?”

Dean shrugged and pulled open the driver's side door. “I was thinkin' we'd crash for the night. Gotta be a motel somewhere near...” He stopped speaking as the text alert on his phone went off. Dean pulled it out of his pocket and flipped it open and glared down at it and the text from their father.

“Let me guess,” Sam said as he took in the dark look on his brother's face. “Dad, and he sent us coordinates instead of a 'hey, how are you?' or 'come find me here'.”

“Shuddup.” Dean shook his head and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Don't start.” He slid into the car as Sam did and pulled the door closed before handing the phone to Sam. “You know what he said and he's right. It's too dangerous for him to be with us.”

Sam nodded but kept his mouth shut. He knew what he thought of that pronouncement.  Despite all their conflicts over the years, h e missed his father and wanted to be hunting the thing that had killed their mother and his girlfriend, but, as usual, Dad had made the decision for them and expected them to carry on like good little soldiers.

“I said don't start.”

“What?” Sam jerked his head up in surprise. “I didn't say anything.”

“Your face is shoutin' at me.” Dean reached over, pulled the glove box open, and dug out the map. “Here. Find out where he's sending us.”

Sam opened his mouth and then snapped it closed with a shake of his head. “Fine.”

Dean drove with his hands tight on the wheel and tried not to resent being sent on another damn 'mission' by their father. Especially not on the heels of what had happened in Fitchburg the day before with the shtriga. That was the second time he'd had to watch that monstrous piece of shit sucking the life out of his little brother, and it wasn't any easier to deal with now than it had been as a kid. Although, knowing that he had finally killed the thing did mollify him a little. It didn't, however, absolve him of his guilt. Dean slid his eyes over to watch as Sam buried his face in his shoulder and cleared his throat before going back to study the map.

“This is in Tennessee.” Sam checked his measurements and nodded. “Pulaski, Tennessee.”

“That's a new one.” Dean headed for the interstate and aimed them south. “Wonder what got his attention this time?”

“Nothing good.” Sam folded the map up and put it back in the glove box. He stretched once and then curled over in the seat, letting his too-warm forehead rest against the cool glass of the window. “I'm gonna grab some shut-eye.”

“Yeah. You do that.” Dean kept driving and listened as Sam slowly drifted off into sleep. He wasn't surprised when, a little while later, Sam started coughing softly. He could hide it when he was awake, but asleep, Sam's body gave into the need and betrayed him, and Dean shook his head. “Stubborn ass,” he said softly, fondly. He resolved that as soon as they reached Pulaski, he was finding them a motel, dumping Sam's ass in a bed, and not letting him move again until he looked a little less like death walking.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

“No, Jay. I want the new projections on my desk tomorrow. Don't give me any more crap about this.” Matthew Dunkirk rolled his eyes up to the ceiling in a bid for patience and leaned back against the newly installed bar in his restaurant. “I know the new architecture's not cost effective but it looks awesome, so get over it. We'll make up what we're spending on this place in the first six months. Guaranteed. And I don't want to hear about how you think the deaths are going to impact the business. Shit happens during construction. No one's even going to remember once we're open. Go crunch your numbers and leave me alone. I'm gonna have another look around and head home. I want those numbers tomorrow.”

Matthew cut off the call and tucked the phone back in his pocket as he looked around the restaurant again. It was coming together finally, now that the walls and ceilings had gone in and the marble floor was nearly finished as well. He smiled and tried to imagine the place filled with tables and people and lights and chuckled. “I'm gonna make a mint.”

He brushed wood and marble dust from his hands and crossed the room. It had a definite Roman feel to it with the marble floors and the mosaic like-paintings he'd had done on the walls. Even the vaulted ceiling high above was decorated with artwork that helped tie the whole thing together, but the pillars were the centerpiece.

“Knew these things would look awesome in here,” Matthew smiled and patted a hand on the rough, grooved side of one of seven pillars circling the perimeter of the room. He turned and headed for the front of the restaurant with a light step only to stumble to a stop as the sound of something clattering echoed in the empty room.

“Hello?” Matthew called and spun around. Only the work lights for the builders were on, and the back of the massive dining room was cloaked in shadow. “Who the hell's back there? This is private property, jackass! I'm calling the cops!” Rather than play the hero, Matthew spun and started walking quickly for the doors while he pulled out his phone. “Damn punks think they're gonna break into my restaurant and get away it.”

Matthew's shoes squeaked across the marble as he turned for another look over his shoulder. The dining room was still empty behind him. He turned back and gasped. “Who...” His phone fell from his fingers and clattered over the floor as Matthew toppled to his back in fear. “What are you? What... no! No! Don't touch me!” He tried to backpedal with his feet further into the room, but he was caught and Matthew's screams echoed from the painted, vaulted ceiling above him.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

Dean parked in front of the motel, turned off the car, and looked over at Sam with a sigh. The kid hadn't woken as they traveled and had steadily worsened. Sam was sweating with fever, shivering with chills, and Dean was positive when he woke him up, Sam would have a go at coughing himself unconscious.

“Ok,” Dean said softly and got out of the car. It was a testament to how crappy Sam was feeling that he didn't wake and hadn't the first time when Dean had rented the room. He grabbed their bags out of the trunk and took them into the room, giving the lime green décor a dirty look before he went back out and opened the passenger door. He snorted a laugh when Sam started to tilt out of his seat and grabbed his shoulder to steady him. “Time to wake up, Rip Van Winkle. Sammy.”

As Dean expected, Sam's eyes opened, focused blurrily on him and then he began to cough. “Easy. Take it easy. Breathe. Geez.”

Sam coughed and gasped for breath against lungs that seemed to be ignoring him. He doubled over and felt Dean's arm slide across his chest to support him until finally he collapsed back into the seat exhausted and blinking to clear his vision. “Crap.”

“Yeah. Come on.” Dean tugged Sam's arm and got him standing. “Nope. Room.” He stopped Sam when he turned toward the trunk, a lifetime ritual now thoroughly ingrained to the point of being automatic. “Bags are already in there.”

Sam frowned and staggered to the open door and inside. “What'd I miss?” he asked as he went to the far bed and its downy, green blanket like it was calling to him.

Dean chuckled and closed the door. “About the last eighty miles. Dude.” He caught the shoulder of his brother's jacket as Sam started to lay down and pulled him back up. “Man, you're useless when you're this sick.”

“M'not sick,” Sam argued, but it was half-hearted as Dean pulled his coat off and took his flannel with it. He groaned and toppled over into the pillow once Dean let him go. “Ok, maybe I feel like shit.”

“You look like shit.” Dean grinned at Sam's bitch-face and yanked the blanket out from under him. “You'll be fine in a few days. Shouldn't be as bad as last time.”

Sam nodded absently and then frowned. He blinked his heavy eyes open and looked up. “Huh?”

Dean turned and dug the first aid kit out of his bag. “You may not remember the last time, but I do. You were dog sick for almost a week after... after Dad scared off the shtriga.”

Sam's frown deepened and he made his tired body move, sitting up to stare at Dean's back. “Is that why you're going all momma bear on me?”

“Hey!” Dean turned around and glared down at Sam, not missing the little tick of his mouth as his brother tried and failed not to smirk. “Shut up and drink your juice.” He shoved the bottle at Sam and walked away to salt the door and windows. Even though the kid was taller than he was now, Dean could easily see the boy Sam had been, so sick after the shtriga's first attack that every cough and moan had driven the wedge of guilt that much deeper into his heart for failing Sam. “Yeah, you got sick like this back then, too. Doctors said it was nothin', just a bad flu, but I knew better. So did Dad.”

“Dean...”

“Don't tell me this ain't my fault. We've been over that.” Dean forced a smile and shrugged as he turned back to Sam's concerned face. “At least this time I don't have to carry you to the bathroom.” He paused.“At least I HOPE I don’t have to carry you to the bathroom.”

“Shuddup,” Sam said and flushed. He flopped back into his pillow and closed his eyes. “Gimme a couple hours and I'll start the research. Find out why Dad wants us here.”

“Uh huh.” Dean finished salting the room and watched Sam drift back into sleep, having no intention of waking him up. It was late and Dean kicked off his boots, then tossed his leather at a nearby chair before rolling onto his bed with a happy groan. He'd just catch what sleep he could before Sam woke him up.

Four hours later, Dean groaned awake, blinked and realized it was the sound of someone puking his guts out that had woken him. He scrubbed a hand over his face and sat up. “Well, crap.” He went quickly to the bathroom, past his brother's empty bed and eased the door open.

Sam gagged and spit and slumped back away from the toilet with a hoarse groan. He went to wipe his hand over his mouth and startled when a damp washcloth beat him to it. He opened his eyes and found Dean  kneeling next to him. “Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you up.”

Dean cringed at the rough sound of his brother's voice and held out a glass of water. “Don't worry about it. Drink.”

“I'm fine,” Sam insisted though he emptied the glass of cool water gratefully. “Go back to bed.”

“Yeah, like that's gonna happen. Come on, Sasquatch.” Dean tugged Sam up from the floor and took the empty glass, setting it on the counter. “Geez, you're like a space heater.”

Sam nodded wearily and brushed a hand over his sweaty brow. His t-shirt was stuck to him and the rough denim of his jeans felt like sa ndp aper on his legs. He saw his duffel bag on the floor and pointed. “Sweats?”

“Yeah; just sit down before you fall down already.” Dean gave Sam a gentle nudge to the bed and then went to dig out his brother's sweat pants. He knew how sensitive Sam's skin got when he had a fever and was a little comforted to find that hadn't changed in the years since he'd seen him. “Here.” He handed them to Sam and glanced at the clock. “I'm gonna run out and grab some stuff. You be ok on your own for a bit?”

Sam stopped in the process of pulling his jeans off and glared up at his big brother. “Dude. I'm not a kid. I think I can handle it.”

“Whatever, bitch.” Dean smirked and pulled his jacket back on, then his boots. “Try not to puke everywhere before I get back.”

“I puke anywhere, s'gonna be your bed,” Sam warned as he stood long enough to tug his sweats on. He sighed as the soft cotton settled against his skin and dropped back to his bed. “Go away, jerk.” He waved at the middle finger Dean flipped him and then sighed in relief when the motel room door closed. He waited to hear the sound of the Impala's engine moving away before he quickly sat back up, bent over and began coughing in earnest.

By the time he was done, his eyes were streaming tears and he was gasping for breath. “Shit,” Sam groaned softly and found the hal f-f ull bottle of juice on the nig htst and. He quickly drained it, trying to soothe his sore throat and shook his head. “No way I'm going back to sleep.” He stood and found his laptop bag, pulling the computer out and set it up on the little table. He sat and booted it then shivered. Sam reached over and caught the edge of the soft blanket on his bed, pulling it to him and wrapped it around his shoulders.

“Hate being sick,” he muttered and hunched over the laptop to start his research. He'd talk Dean into taking him to a library later in the day, like once the sun was actually up. He lost himself in the research in an attempt to ignore his ever more pounding headache, so much so that he didn't even hear the Impala return or the door open.

“Sam! What the hell?”

Sam jerked up from the laptop and blinked owlishly up at his big brother. “Uh... research?” He smiled.

Dean rolled his eyes and set his bags on his bed. “You know the bags under your eyes got bags of their own. You idiot, get back to bed.”

“Knock it off. I'm fine.” Sam coughed and leaned his head down into his blanket until it passed. When he looked up again, Dean was glaring at him as if to say 'told you so,' but Sam ignored it. “It's a cough, dude. Chill out. Found our job.” Rather than risk an argument, Sam rose and wrapped the blanket more tightly around himself as he went over to his bed. He nodded to the table. “Local business owner is building a new restaurant just outside town and there've been deaths.”

“Uh huh.” Dean shook his head and sat down at the laptop to see what his brother had found.

Sam shoved his pillows together and leaned back, making an effective burrito of himself with the blanket. “Three dead and two injured.” He coughed again and cleared his throat. “All with burns they couldn't explain.”

“This is a fire thing?” Dean sent a sharp glance to his brother for that.

“No fires; that's the thing.” Sam pushed himself up a couple inches and pulled a hand out of his nest of blanket to shove his hair out of his eyes. “Just burns. Could be spontaneous combustion, but I'm not even sure that's a real thing.”

“Witch, maybe.” Dean pushed back from the laptop and went to his bed, pulling bottles out of the bags. “Or a ghost. What was that page about reservation land?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. The land used to belong to the Chickasaw  I ndians at the turn of the century. Might be a burial ground or something under the building.”

“We'll hit up the library tomor... er, later today.” Dean snorted with a glance at the clock and saw it was only a couple hours until dawn. “Meantime, here.”

Sam rolled his eyes but took the bottle of cough medicine Dean handed him. He took a healthy swig of the stuff with a grimace for the taste and gave it back, trading it for the orange juice bottle his brother was holding. “Stuff tastes like ass.”

“And I don't wanna know how my little brother knows what ass tastes like.” Dean grinned at Sam's disgusted face and held up a thermometer.

“No way, dude. I'm fine.” Sam batted his brother's hand away. “You're not putting that in my mouth! I just drank something. Wouldn't be accurate anyway.”

“It's for your ear, idiot.” Dean cheerfully jabbed the thermometer in Sam's ear and held it there while his brother snarled at him. He pulled it away when it beeped and danced back from the punch Sam tossed at his hip to look at it. “One-oh-three. Take these too.” He tossed a bottle of Tylenol into Sam's lap and dropped the thermometer on the night stand.

“It's just a cold, Dean. You know that, right?” Sam swallowed a couple of the Tylenol and slid down in the bed while he watched his brother.

“No. A cold is when the waitress sneezes in your face and you get sick. This is leftover supernatural, bullshit fallout from the shtriga, and I'm not takin' chances with it.” Dean turned a stern glare to his little brother. “Go back to sleep already.”

Sam wanted to argue but, knowing what their father had already put Dean through because of the shtriga, he just couldn't add to it. “Alright,” he said quietly and got comfortable in the blanket. He closed his eyes on Dean's surprised face with a smirk.

“Huh.” Dean watched Sam for a moment in surprise and then smiled. He nodded to himself and rolled onto his own bed. If Sam was actually going to grab more sleep, he'd just get a few hours himself. “Night, Sammy.”

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

“This isn't much of a library,” Dean muttered and smiled as the librarian walked past them yet again. She was older, in her fifties, at least, and with that stern sort of face that said she terrorized small children for fun. Dean hated her on sight, especially when she gave his little brother a dirty look for asking about the town land records.

“It's not that bad.” Sam chuckled and pushed one of the books toward his brother. “Look at that one.”

Dean tugged the book over and squinted at the faded map on the pages. He leaned down for a closer look and frowned. “Is that a graveyard?”

Sam nodded and then raised his brows. “According to this, the Chickasaw remains were moved, like, fifty years ago, but they did used to be under the site of the new restaurant.”

“Maybe they forgot a few and that's who's knocking off the builders now.” Dean pushed the map away and stretched. “Lunch time?” He looked over at Sam and watched his brother clear his throat several times before running a hand down his face. He nodded, satisfied that, while Sam still felt like crap, he wasn't as bad off as he'd been as a kid.

“Yeah. I could eat, surprisingly.” Sam snorted a laugh and closed the books. He made a neat stack of them and carried them back to the desk, smiling at the librarian who failed to return it. “Thank you very much.”

“I find even one fingerprint or torn page in there, I'll find your ass and break it.” The librarian glared up at him, smiled and waved a hand toward the door. “Have a nice day.”

“Wow.” Dean laughed as they left and shook his head. “That woman is some piece of work.”

“I think she likes me.” Sam smirked at the look of disbelief on his brother's face and started down the sidewalk back toward the car.

“Hey, there's a diner this way.” Dean caught the elbow of Sam's jacket and tugged him around. “Saw a sign for homemade pie in the window.”

Sam groaned and followed along. “You make yourself sick on pie and I will laugh. Fair warning.”

“Not possible.” Dean opened his mouth to say more and then stopped when he heard a woman's voice raised in panic from the alley to their left. “You hear that?”

“Yeah.” Sam didn't wait. He started for the alley and wasn't surprised Dean took long steps to go ahead of him. A big, green dumpster sat against the left-hand wall blocking their view of the alley, and they could hear voices coming from behind it. “Back there.”

Dean nodded and quickened his stride. He moved around the dumpster and felt anger curl in his gut at the sight that met him. Five men were gathered around a woman. She wore an apron, and Dean recognized the logo as belonging to the diner just up the street. Two of the men had her pinned to the wall while a third grabbed hold of her skirt and tugged on it.

“Hey!” Dean bellowed and felt Sam draw up at his back as the men spun to stare at them in surprise. “How 'bout you good ole' boys back the hell off the lady right now?”

“Hey. It's alright.” Sam locked eyes with the woman and smiled tightly. He eased past Dean and toward her. “Let her go,” he ordered the two men holding her.

“What the hell are you two pricks gonna do about it?” The tallest of the men sneered at them and pulled a knife from the coat at his back. “You be smart and get outta here before we give you a lesson in mindin' your own business.”

“Not gonna happen,” Dean snarled.

Sam sighed, rolling his eyes and knowing exactly where this was going to go. He trusted Dean to handle the three men now moving toward them and put his attention on the two still holding the woman. He flicked a glance to his brother and Dean gave him a short nod of understanding that Sam was going to get the girl out of harm's way first.

“Your funeral,” the first man said.

Dean grinned as the man's fist came flying for his head. The adrenaline rushed through him and he ducked under the swing, catching the man's wrist in his hand. He twisted his attacker's arm and pulled him off balance while he sent a kick to the leg of the man next to him that sent him crumpling to the ground with a short cry.

Sam went wide around the fight and turned on the two remaining men and the woman. “You should have let her go.” He sent a foot flying at the chest of the nearest man and Sam grinned when he doubled over as all the air whooshed out of him. He caught the arm of the other man, turned and flipped him over his shoulder and into the side of the dumpster with a hollow thud. “Hey.” Sam took the woman's arm and looked into her wide eyes. “I want you to run now, ok? Just go. Go!” He gave her a push past the melee and watched as she sprinted down the alley and out of sight to safety.

Dean grunted when a fist hit him in the ribs and he turned with a snarl. He threw his elbow back and heard the satisfying sound of bone crunching as blood gushed from the man's nose and he staggered away from the hunter. “Amateur,” he said with a dark laugh and turned to take on the other two.

Sam backed up a step as the man he'd kicked regained his feet and raised his fists. “Stay down,” Sam warned him, but the man shook his head and came at him.  Sam easily sidestepped a badly aimed kick and delivered a hard hit to the side of his head. He turned and saw a glint of steel in the corner of his eye. “Dean!” Sam called out a warning and spun to try and catch the man with the knife going for his brother's exposed back.

Dean knocked away a fist aiming for him and drove his own into the side of the man's head as Sam's voice called out. He turned while his attacker dropped and swept an arm up in surprise to catch the hand wielding the knife toward his back. “Asshole!” He twisted hard until the man cried out and the knife clattered to the pavement and then a gasp pulled Dean's eyes over his shoulders. “Sammy?”

Sam reared his head back from the blade suddenly sliding under his jaw and yelped as one of his knees was kicked out from behind and he went down to the ground in a rush. He felt the blade bite into the tender skin under his jaw and tried to avoid being sliced open. Fingers curled roughly in his hair and forced his head back.

“Stop!”

Dean kicked out the knee of the man who'd tried to knife him and felt cold fury settle into his bones when he saw Sam taken to his knees by a man behind him. “Sam?”

Sam swallowed and nodded once. “M'ok.”

“What the hell, dude?” Dean asked his brother, but his eyes were on the men around them as the balance of power shifted.

Sam snorted. “I was watching your back. Moron.”

“Hey! I'm the one with the damn knife here! Talk to me!” The man holding Sam gave the man's head a hard jerk with his hair and didn't miss the way it darkened the other man's face. “You two assholes should'a walked the hell away!”

“Let him go.” Dean took a step toward Sam and snarled when his arms were grabbed. He jerked one free and planted an elbow in the asshole's stomach. He turned to the other and stopped when he heard Sam's voice raised in pain.

Sam gasped as the knife bit into his throat. He tried to move his head away, but the grip in his hair was rock solid. It hurt enough that it brought tears to his eyes and he blinked them furiously away while Dean focused on him again. He brought a hand up to grab the knife and wasn't surprised when the blade sank deeper into his flesh and he felt warm blood running down his neck into his shirt.

“You hold still or I'm gonna give you a permanent smile, asshole.”

Sam stilled and lowered his hand.  It was a bizarre commentary on their lives that they had been in far worse situations, but he knew this one, which should have been an easy take-down of some local trash, could go really bad really fast at this point. And he was pissed as hell at himself for getting himself taken down so easily. He looked up to his big brother with the question in his eyes: “What now?”   
  
With years of practice in silent communication behind them, Dean knew that Sam was ready to follow his lead and move into action at the slightest signal from him, but that knife was already pressed way too hard against his brother’s exposed neck. It was too risky. Dean shook his head slightly, unwilling to risk Sam's life and sent his brother a warning glare to stay put and not try anything. “So what happens now?”

The man holding Sam smiled and nodded to his friends. “You get a lesson.”

Dean grunted  as fists began to rain down on his chest and ribs. An arm slid under his jaw and yanked his head back as another fist struck the side of his throat and he coughed out a curse. He heard his brother's voice calling his name angrily, and then above that, the wail of sirens. 'About damn time' he thought to himself and slammed his eyes closed as he was released and tumbled to the ground on his knees.

“Shit! That bitch called the cops!” The man holding Sam looked down at him and frowned. “You assholes are getting off lucky.” He pulled the knife away and slammed the hilt into the back of Sam's head, letting him fall sideways before he ran with his friends.

“Sammy?” Dean groaned and got his eyes open enough to see his little brother lying on his side a few feet away. Blood covered his neck, his eyes were closed, and Dean couldn't even tell if he was alive at that point. “No. No.” He hissed in a breath as he forced his body to move and crawled to Sam. He pulled him into his arms and put shaking fingers to the blood-slick skin under Sam's jaw. Dean blew out a ragged breath when he felt the steady beat of Sam's heart and he dropped his head into his brother's hair.

“Son of a bitch, Sammy,” Dean whispered and pulled him in tighter. “That was too damn close.” He held on to his brother and listened to the sirens growing closer. “Hang on, buddy. Hang on.”

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

_To Be Continued..._


	2. Chapter 2

_Dean grunted_ _as_ _fists began to rain down on his chest and ribs. An arm slid under his jaw and yanked his head back as another fist struck the side of his throat and he coughed out a curse. He heard his brother's voice calling his name angrily, and then above that, the wail of sirens. 'About damn time' he thought to himself and slammed his eyes closed as he was released and tumbled to the ground on his knees._

“ _Shit! That bitch called the cops!” The man holding Sam looked down at him and frowned. “You assholes are getting off lucky.” He pulled the knife away and slammed the hilt into the back of Sam's head, letting him fall sideways before he ran with his friends._

“ _Sammy?” Dean groaned and got his eyes open enough to see his little brother lying on his side a few feet away. Blood covered his neck, his eyes were closed, and Dean couldn't even tell if he was alive at that point. “No. No.” He hissed in a breath as he forced his body to move and crawled to Sam. He pulled him into his arms and put shaking fingers to the blood-slick skin under Sam's jaw. Dean blew out a ragged breath when he felt the steady beat of Sam's heart and he dropped his head into his brother's hair._

“ _Son of a bitch, Sammy,” Dean whispered and pulled him in tighter. “That was too damn close.” He held on to his brother and listened to the sirens growing closer. “Hang on, buddy. Hang on.”_

**Chapter 2**

Dean slapped away the hands of the nurse who tried to pull his t-shirt off again and scowled. “Where's my brother and can I see him? I need to see him!”

“Mr. Fogerty...”

Dean shook his head at the pleading look on the woman's face and hopped off the exam table. “Screw it. Take me to him right now. Let's go. I'm fine.” He grabbed his leather coat and flannel from the foot of the bed and went past her.

“Your ribs are... sit down, please!”

“Nope.” Dean stepped out into the bustling hall of the emergency room and looked back at her. “Either you take me to him right now or I'm just gonna start walkin' in rooms 'til I find him.”

She huffed out a frustrated sigh and pointed. “Three rooms down on your left. Don't get in the way.”

Dean smiled at her. “Thank you. Now was that so hard?” He turned away on her angry mutter and strode down the hall. Any other time he would have been more polite, flirted even. The nurse was pretty, after all, with those blonde curls, but he needed to know his brother was alright and she wasn't telling him anything.

“Sammy?” Dean called as he stuck his head in the third door and saw another nurse and a doctor standing over his brother. Sam was laid out in a bed too short for his long legs. His feet hung off the end and he looked to still be unconscious.

“Ah, you'd be his brother, Dean?” The doctor extended a hand and smiled. “I'm Dr. Milner. Come in.”

“How is he?” Dean set his jacket and flannel on the end of Sam's bed and looked at him. White bandages curved around the left side of Sam's neck to the front, spotted with blood in places, and his face was pale with a sheen of sweat beaded on his forehead.

“The lacerations to his throat are long but thankfully not too deep.” Dr. Milner stepped aside to let Dean get to his brother's head. “We've closed them, but he'll need to be careful about moving his head too much for the next few days or he could reopen them. There's a sizable lump at the base of his skull, so concussion is clearly a problem and likely why he's still unconscious.” He smiled again to take away some of the worry on Dean's face. “We did some scans and everything looks fine. He'll probably wake up with a hell of a headache any time now. What I'm more concerned with is he seems to be suffering from some sort of virus. Flu, maybe?”

Dean nodded; the flu was as good an explanation as any. “Yeah. He's been sick for the last day or so. It's no big deal.”

“His fever is higher than I'd like.” Dr. Milner took Sam's chart from the nurse and nodded her out the door. “A hundred and three at the moment. I've started him on a course of antibiotics.” He pointed to the bag of clear fluid hung above Sam's bed and the line that went into his arm. “I want him to finish that before I release him.”

“But he's ok, right?” Dean put a hand on Sam's shoulder and looked back at the doctor. “’Cause that was a lot of blood.”

“He's fine.” Milner nodded and gave Dean's shoulder a pat. “He was very lucky. The police said you were attacked by five men. You're both very lucky.” He looked down at Dean's t-shirt and frowned. “Why doesn't it look like your ribs have been wrapped? I saw the films from the x-rays.” He put a hand out and grabbed the bottom of the man's shirt before Dean could jerk away and pulled it up. He sighed. “Dean. You have two severely sprained ribs on your left side. They need to be wrapped for support if you're going to be up and moving around. Otherwise, you won't be moving much at all.”

Dean shook his head and shrugged stiffly. “I'm fine. I've had sprained ribs before. I'm good.”

“Right.” The doctor shook his head and rolled his eyes. “I assume you'll be signing yourself out AMA then.” He glanced down at the younger brother and back up with a smirk. “And I'll bet money he has the same stubborn streak and will be doing the same before the end of the day.”

Dean chuckled and shrugged again. “It's genetics, Doc. Runs in the family.”

“I'll just go gather the papers then and a prescription for Sam. I want him on the antibiotics for the next ten days.”

“Sure thing,” Dean agreed easily though he had no intention of forcing that with Sam. Antibiotics weren't going to fix what was making him sick. On the other hand, it would be handy to have a full prescription in the first aid kit. He watched the doctor leave and then sat stiffly on the side of his brother's bed. He straightened his back and tried to ease the nagging pain of his sprained ribs. “How about you wake up, little brother?”

Dean sat with Sam for a half an hour before his desperate need for coffee got the better of him. He patted his brother's shoulder and stood with a groan for his aching ribs. “Back in five, Sammy. Don't go anywhere,” he said softly. He pulled on his flannel carefully and then twitched his leather jacket over his brother's chest so that if Sam woke while he was gone, he'd know Dean was there.

“Coffee?” Dean asked the first nurse he saw at a desk and raised his brows hopefully with an attempt at puppy dog eyes that would have shamed Sam.

The nurse chuckled at the hopeful look on the handsome man's face. She brushed brown hair out of her eyes and hooked a thumb over her shoulder. “Go down that hall and follow the green line on the floor. It'll take you to the cafeteria. The red ones will lead you back here.”

Dean grinned. “Thank you, sweetheart.” He left her blushing and headed down the hall. It was busy with people rushing in fast walks and he had to dodge being run into more than once. He was just passing a room with a cluster of white-coated men outside it when the conversation caught his attention and he stopped, slipping up beside a tall cart to listen.

“... found him at his restaurant, but we still don't know how he got those burns.”

“It's a miracle he's even alive with that much damage.”

“It doesn't make any sense.”

“He's probably not going to last much longer. Is his wife coming?”

“I heard she was coming from the restaurant. Poor woman's the one who found him.”

Dean scowled and began walking again when one of the doctors looked his way. It had sounded suspiciously like someone new had been burned at the restaurant they were looking into. He didn't believe in coincidences and turned back into the emergency room, looking for someone he could charm for more information.

Back in his room, Sam slowly fought his way out of the dark place he had been floating. Pain came to him first, and Sam groaned softly as he felt a burning sensation on his neck and a pounding pain at the back of his head. He felt too warm and cold at the same time, and there was a heavy weight on his chest.

Sam struggled, fighting against the urge to go back to sleep and at last managed to pry his eyes open. He blinked to clear his vision and looked down to find his brother's battered, leather jacket draped across his chest. Sam smirked and rested his head back. Whatever had happened after he'd been knocked out in the alley, it couldn't have been too bad if Dean was obviously up and about. “Dean?” Sam called and then coughed to clear his sore throat.

He lifted his head and Sam groaned more loudly as pain pounded through his skull. “Holy crap,” he whispered and pulled one hand out from under Dean's jacket to hold his head as he dropped it back to the pillow.

“Mr. Fogerty? It's nice to see you awake!” Dr. Milner smiled broadly as he walked into the room and found his patient awake. “Hello, Sam. I'm Dr. Milner. How are you feeling?”

Sam convinced his eyes to open again and squinted at the fluorescent lights above him. “Like something tap-danced on my skull... mostly. Dean?”

“Must have stepped out for a minute. He'll be back soon, I'm sure. Here, let's get this off you.” Dr. Milner took hold of the leather jacket covering Sam's chest and gave it a pull but it went nowhere.

Sam tightened his grip on the collar of Dean's leather and closed his eyes again. “S'good. S'm'brother's.”

The doctor smiled fondly and let the leather go, but then he frowned and leaned over Sam's head, blocking some of the light. “Sam, can you open your eyes for me?” He didn't like that the young man was slurring. “Sam. Eyes open please.” He took a pen light out of his pocket and flicked it on. When Sam gave him a barely-there shake of his head, the doctor sighed. “I'm sorry but I really need to check your pupillary response.”

Dr. Milner pried Sam's left eyelid up gently and held it open while he flashed the light quickly into Sam's eye and back out again. “Ok. That's good. A little slow, but that's to be expected. Now the other one.”

Sam didn't fight it when his right eye was opened and the light flashed painfully in at him again. He swallowed hard and tried to breathe through his nose as the doctor let him close his eyes again. “Gonna... throw up you do that 'gain.”

“Ok, Sam. I'm sorry.” The doctor squeezed his patient's shoulder and put his pen light away. “You are definitely the recipient of a concussion. Expect light sensitivity, headaches, dizziness and nausea over the two to five days.”

Sam nodded. He'd had his fair share of concussions over the years and knew the drill well. He raised a hand to his neck instead, remembering the feel of the blade tugging through his flesh and the blood. “Throat?”

“Cleaned and closed and it'll heal fine so long as you don't move or turn your head too much to the right for a week or so.” Dr. Milner patted Sam's shoulder. “How's the pain?”

Sam 'hmmmm'ed but didn't respond or open his eyes. Instead, he clutched Dean's jacket closer to him and wished his big brother would come back. As if he had conjured him, Sam suddenly heard Dean's voice and rolled his head slowly toward the sound.

“He's awake?” Dean asked and grinned as he walked up to his brother's bed. “Heya, Sammy.” He took in the way Sam had the collar of the leather jacket clenched in one fist and smirked.

“He wouldn't let me move the coat.” Dr. Milner chuckled and moved aside again. “He's concussed and slurring his words a bit, but I suspect that's more illness and exhaustion than anything else.” He picked up a clipboard from the table and handed it to Dean. “The AMA papers you wanted. Your brother has about another hour on the antibiotics and then you can take him out of here if you like, although I’d much rather he stay here overnight just so we can keep an eye on him and keep him still. Press the call button if you need anything in the meantime.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” Dean set the clipboard on the bed and gave his jacket a tug. He snorted a laugh when Sam's grip stayed firm. “You awake in there, Tiger?”

Sam scowled and opened his eyes again. The scowl cleared when he saw his brother leaning over him and smiled. “Hey.”

Dean shook his head fondly and sat on the side of the bed. “So, I went to get some coffee and found us another crispy critter.” He figured the case was the best way to find out just how out of it his brother was. To his relief, Sam seemed to become more alert as he watched and opened his eyes.

“Another burn victim?” Sam made himself let go of the leather jacket and tried to sit up.

“Easy.” Dean slid an arm under his brother's shoulders and held him still while he found the button to raise the head of the bed. “Just... hang on. Stop squirmin'.”

Sam blew out a breath and slumped forward a bit with a hand to his aching head. “D'we get the assholes?”

Dean eased Sam into the bed again and sat back. “No. The assholes got us,” he responded, sounding both annoyed and thoroughly disgusted at that particular situation. He wrapped an arm around his pounding ribs and looked angrily at the bandage on his brother's throat. “I'm gonna return the favor before we blow this town.” He gave a small shrug. “On the plus side, we did save the girl, so that’s something.”

Sam chuckled softly and then reached up to tap the arm Dean had pulled over his chest. “Ribs? How bad did they get you?”

“Just a sprain. No big deal.” Dean pushed Sam's hand away and stood up. Standing hurt less than sitting, and he paced over to lean against the window instead.

Sam pushed his brother's jacket down to his lap and rubbed a hand over the back of his head. “You need to wrap them, dumbass.” He smirked at the unamused look on Dean's face. “So, what about the new victim?”

“According to nurse tight-pants...” Dean stopped and grinned at the disgusted look on his brother's face. “What? I didn't get her name and those were some tight scrub pants she had on. I mean, seriously, like...”

“Dean.”

“Spoil-sport.” Dean laughed and then held his ribs when the movement pulled them wrong. “Ow. Anyway, the guy is the owner of the restaurant. Didn't come home last night, which, according to nurse tight-pants, is pretty much the town gossip about him, that the guy's a player and the wife just deals with it because he's loaded.”

“Geez,” Sam groaned and shook his head. “Talk about an unhappy marriage.”

“Yeah. So the wife goes to the restaurant this morning to look for him and finds him crisped up on the floor and barely breathin'.” Dean rubbed his ribs and looked at his brother. “Guy's not gonna make it. The nurse figures he'll be dead within the hour more than likely, so we won't be talkin' to him.”

“Damn. Did you see him?” Sam pulled his arm up and took hold of the IV in his arm.

“Don't,” Dean warned. “May as well let the bag empty.” He gestured to the half-full bag above his brother's head. “Can't hurt anything and then no one'll argue when we blow this pop stand. Besides, if nothing else, it’ll help keep that cut from getting infected.”

“Fine.” Sam sighed and leaned back, closing his eyes. “We really need to get a look at the bodies.” He cracked his eyes and looked at Dean. “County coroner stores the bodies in the local hospital morgue.” He smirked and pointed a finger toward the floor. “Here.”

Dean groaned. “You're gonna make me drag your wounded ass down to the basement before we leave, aren't you?”

“Yep.” Sam closed his eyes again and smiled. “Since we're already here.” He opened his eyes again and aimed a finger at Dean. “Go a lot better if you wrap those ribs. Not that you don't look funny all hunched over like Quasimodo.”

“Shuddup,” Dean growled. It irritated him when Sam was right. “Fine. If it'll shut you up, I'll go find nurse tight-pants to wrap 'em for me.”

“I really don't want the details if you talk her into the supply closet.” Sam waved a hand while Dean laughed his way out of the room. “Idiot.”

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Sam tugged on the neck of the scrub top he wore and wished for his shirts and jacket. “This thing's too small for me.”

Dean nodded with a laugh. “Yeah, well, you can't go runnin' around the hospital with your bloody shirts on.” He lifted the bag with his brother's clothes. “Someone would want to know why the hell you're not in a bed.” He steadied Sam when he swayed in the hall. “Like me. Dammit. You should have stayed...”

“I do NOT need the damn wheelchair,” Sam said quickly and righted himself, brushing Dean's hand away. “I'm fine. It's not like this is the first time I've been knocked out. Relax.”

“You're concussed. You're sick. And some local yokel tried to separate your head.” Dean scowled angrily and hoped he'd get the chance to pay back the son of a bitch who'd cut his brother. “You need to be in a damn bed.”

“People are dying.” Sam turned a serious look at his brother. “And you're just as banged up as I am. I don't see you heading for a bed any time soon.”

“That's... shuddup.” Dean gave Sam a nudge down the hall and pointed. “Morgue. And stop cranin' your head around at me or you'll reopen your damn neck.”

Sam put a hand over the bandage around his throat and sighed. “I hate neck wounds.”

Dean slipped ahead of his brother and cracked open the door to the morgue. His ribs were less painful since he'd let the very attractive nurse wrap them. He smirked. She had been very appreciative of his physique and he'd tucked away the phone number she'd given him with great care. He dragged his mind back to the matter at hand and smiled seeing the place was empty, for the moment at least. “All clear.”

Sam followed him inside and shivered in the colder air. He went to the desk inside the door and sat down at the computer. He jiggled the mouse to wake it up and smirked. “I love it when they don't bother to log out before they leave.”

“Nice.” Dean leaned to look over Sam's shoulder and grimaced, straightening back up. “Where's our stiffs?”

“Uh...” Sam scanned through the recent intakes, clicking through the pages and nodded. “Got it. One in drawer twenty-seven.”

Dean turned and headed for the wall of small, rectangular drawers until he came to twenty-seven. He pulled open the heavy latch and slid the tray out. Dean wrinkled his nose and took hold of the sheet. “Man, this one smells funny.”

“That's the second victim.” Sam closed the page he was on and stood, going over to the wall. “First one was already released for burial.” He bent and reached for drawer forty-seven. “This is the last victim, not including the poor guy upstairs.”

Dean pulled the heavy sheet away from the body and stared in confusion. “The hell is this?”

“Huh?” Sam asked as he pulled out his own drawer. He slid back the sheet and reared back as the smell of burnt flesh struck his nose. His head swam with the sudden movement and he'd have gone down to the floor if not for the firm hands that grabbed his shoulders and held him up straight.

“Dude, breathe. Take it easy.” Dean braced Sam against the wall of cold drawers and waited for his brother's rolling eyes to settle and finally focus on him. “Alright?” Sam gave him a shaky nod and Dean frowned. “What the hell was that?”

Sam shook his head and rubbed a hand over his face. “It... the smell. It just... I...”

Dean scowled and looked down at the body and back up and then it clicked into place; the last place Sam would have smelled that much burned human flesh... Palo Alto. “Hey. Don't worry about it. You can go...”

“I'm good. I'm ok.” Sam straightened to prove his point and knelt carefully next to the body.

“Yeah. Right. Ok then.” Dean sighed and resisted the urge to start an argument. “So what's up with these bodies then, 'cause that ain't natural.” Both bodies had clearly been burned but were now encased in what looked like a layer of ash.

“I don't know.” Sam took the sheet and used a corner of it to poke at the body. “They wouldn't have put them in here while they were still burning. Where did this ash come from?” The ash compressed under his fingers and slowly sifted away from the dead man's shoulder and to the table beneath him to reveal red and blackened skin beneath.

“Man, no way these guys went peacefully.” Dean went back to the other body. He followed his brother's example and used the sheet to sweep some of the thick layer of ash from the corpse's chest. “What do you suppose this has to do with the Chickadee burial ground?”

Sam was surprised into a laugh and stood slowly. “Chickasaw and I don't know. Some tribes cremated their dead rather than traditional open burial. Maybe that's it. I'll have to do some research on the Chickasaw.”

“First we check the restaurant and see if the place really is bumpin' with ghosts or not.” Dean slid the body back into the wall and closed the drawer. “Come on. We should shag ass before someone catches us in here.”

Sam nodded and pushed the other body out of sight. “No one should have to die like that,” he said softly, not quite able to keep his voice from catching just a bit, and wrapped his arms around himself against a feverish chill.

“I know. Come on.” Dean gently took his arm and steered him away from the wall. He grabbed the bag of his brother's clothes on the way out the door and was relieved when they made it to the stairs without running into anyone.

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The restaurant stood tall and dark against the night sky. The half-full moon outlined the building in the darkness, and Sam shook his head at the sprawling structure and dome at its center. “Guy was definitely trying to make a statement with this place,” Sam said and shook his head.

Dean went ahead of his brother to the wide, double doors at the building's center and ripped away the yellow crime scene tape stuck there. “Place is big enough to be a hotel. Who needs that much room for food?”

Sam chuckled and followed Dean as they stepped through the doors. It wasn't pitch-black inside like he had expected. Work lights glowed softly at intervals making pools of light surrounded by inky darkness. The doors opened onto a large foyer. The floors weren't finished, still rough cement, but the walls had been painted with frescoes that looked like they had been lifted from a Greek temple. “Wow,” Sam breathed as he walked off to the right and into what he assumed was going to be the dining room. The floors there were finished in an opalescent marble that seemed to glow under the work lights. Mosaics covered the walls that Sam could see and, as he looked up, he could just make out similar paintings on the domed ceiling above in the faint light that carried from the bare bulbs.

Dean pulled out his homemade EMF meter and flicked it on, following Sam and looking around the huge room. He stopped beside a wide, aged looking pillar and leaned against it. The meter in his hand whined as the needle climbed and Dean whistled. “Definitely got somethin' goin' on in here.”

Sam nodded and walked out onto the empty expanse of floor and toward a bar that stretched across the side wall. “Spirits for sure; at least one.” The bulbs over the bar flickered as Sam near ed and he sniffed deeply. “There's a charge in the air. I can smell it.” He tightened his grip on his rock salt loaded shotgun and turned back to look out into the room.

Dean listened to the silence around them and felt a chill zing up his spine. “I don't like this.” His voice carried through the empty room, echoing up into the dome as he looked warily around.

“Neither do I. I've got a bad feeling.” Sam took a step away from the bar and spun as he heard the soft tinkle of glass behind him.

“What?” Dean was instantly on alert and stalked across the marble floor to his brother with his shotgun ready.

“Heard something.” Sam backed up a step with his eyes trained on the bar.

The meter in Dean's off hand began to scream. “Not good. You see anything?”

“No.” Sam moved back to his brother's side and caught Dean's elbow with his free hand. “Come on. We need to get out of here. Now.” He checked over his shoulder, seeing nothing and pulled on Dean again. “We don't what or how many ghosts we're dealing with. We need to know. It feels like...”

“What?” Dean asked and met Sam's worried eyes as they backed quickly toward the exit.

“More than one. There's more than one,” Sam said quickly and felt a headache brewing behind his eyes. He wasn't sure if it was because of the concussion or from his psychic abilities kicking in, but it hurt. “Dean!” he shouted in warning and pointed toward the back of the dining room. In the deep shadows outside the work lights, a figure appeared. At first just a darker shape amidst the darkness, it began to glow in broken fragments of red light and Sam knew without being sure how that being touched would not be good.

“Shit!” Dean gasped as more figures began to manifest and he turned. “That's it. Let's move!” He ran for the entrance of the building with Sam alongside him while the smell of burnt flesh became stronger and stronger. He turned at the door and fired a round of rock salt. It flew into two of the shadowy, glowing creatures behind them and dispersed both with angry howls.

Sam lowered his shotgun and shoved open the doors. He ran through and slid to a stop with a surprised yelp as one of the figures rose up in front of him. “No!” He yelled and fell backward into his brother as its arms reached for him. In the moonlight, the spirit seemed covered in the same layer of ash the victims had been, but it was cracked and broken like a desert floor, and ominous red light glowed up through the cracks while eyes like burning cinders locked onto his.

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_To Be Continued..._


	3. Chapter 3

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

_In the deep shadows outside the work lights, a figure appeared. At first just a darker shape amidst the darkness, it began to glow in broken fragments of red light and Sam knew without being sure how that being touched would not be good._

_“Shit!” Dean gasped as more figures began to manifest and he turned. “That's it. Let's move!” He ran for the entrance of the building with Sam alongside him while the smell of burnt flesh became stronger and stronger. He turned at the door and fired a round of rock salt. It flew into two of the shadowy, glowing creatures and dispersed them with angry howls._

_Sam lowered his shotgun and shoved open the doors. He ran through and slid to a stop with a surprised yelp as one of the figures rose up in front of him. “No!” He yelled and fell backward into his brother as its arms reached for him. In the moonlight, the spirit seemed covered in the same layer of ash the victims had been but it was cracked and broken like a desert floor and ominous red light glowed up through the cracks while eyes like burning cinders locked onto his._

**Chapter 3**

Sam fell backward into Dean, feeling his brother taken to his knees with a grunt of pain. He dragged the barrel of his shotgun up as the ghastly spirit reached for him and fired. The explosion of sound made Sam wince as the ghost dissipated in a cloud of boiling smoke. “Shit.”

“Sammy? You ok?” Dean extricated himself from Sam and got to his knees, with wary eyes on the building around them. “Come on; get up. Move!”

Sam nodded and scrambled back to his feet. It had been close. He ran out the door with Dean beside him and didn't take a deep breath again until they were in the car and speeding away from the restaurant. He slumped in the seat wearily. “That didn't go well.”

“Ya think?” Dean glanced over at his brother. “Did it get you? Are you burned?”

Sam shook his head. “No. No, I'm good. It didn't get me. You?” He looked at Dean and saw the tightening around his eyes and his white-knuckled grip on the wheel that said 'pain'.

“Just my ribs.” Dean smirked. “A tree fell on me. Oh, wait. That was you.” He chuckled when Sam slapped a hand into his arm and then grimaced. “Ow, crap. Knock it off.” Dean put his right arm over his chest and cradled his wrapped, sprained ribs with his right hand while he drove. He had to work to keep his breathing shallow or the pain was enough to make him see stars. He could feel that the bandage binding his ribs had shifted when he'd fallen. It wasn't supporting his injured ribs anymore so much as squeezing them in all the wrong places.  
  
Sam looked at him, concern replacing exasperation in his expression. “You want me to drive, Dean? You don’t look so good.”

Completely ignoring the offer, Dean looked back to Sam and narrowed his eyes at his brother's neck; there were spots of blood beginning to appear on the white bandage taped there. “Think you reopened one of those cuts.”

“Huh?” Sam flipped down the visor and pulled it so he could see his neck in the little mirror. He sighed. “Crap.” He brushed his fingers over the small blood stains. He moved his head, turning it carefully back and forth. “Doesn't really hurt. I don't think it's too bad.” He flipped the visor back up. “I'll get a hold of someone from the Chickasaw nation in the morning and find out about that burial ground. We can't go back in there blind again.”

“Well, at least we know for sure we're dealing with some honked off ghosts.” Dean turned into the parking lot for their motel and headed down the long building toward their room. “I counted five or six of them. Gonna be a bitch if we gotta dig 'em all up.”

“If they were already cremated originally, there won't be anything to dig up.” Sam waited until Dean stopped the car and opened the door, grabbing his shotgun and his brother's. “We might need a purifying ritual for the building, or the ground under it.”

Dean got out of the car and groaned, hunching over his ribs. “Damn.” He closed his eyes and rested his forehead on the night-cooled roof of the Impala. He jumped painfully when he felt his elbow taken. “Crap. Warn a guy.”

Sam chuckled and pulled his brother upright. “Slowly.” He held onto Dean until he felt him steady and then collected the shotguns from where he'd set them on the hood of the car in a rush to reach Dean. “You alright?” He smiled at the dirty look Dean sent him. “Yeah, ok. Stupid question.”

Dean muttered under his breath and went to the door, pushing it open into their room. He reached over to flick on the light and nothing happened. “Huh.” He flicked the switch again and the light remained stubbornly dark. “Aw, what the hell?”

“What's with the lights?” Sam reflexively looked down to check the salt line under the door and froze. It was broken in a wide swath down the middle. “Dean.” He grabbed his brother's elbow before he could get farther into the room and pulled him back as a bad feeling sank into his stomach. “The salt line.”

Dean gritted his teeth around the pain in his ribs and drew his gun from his back. He didn't have to look to know the line of salt had been broken; Sam's voice was enough. “Hello?”

Sam tucked one shotgun under his left arm and brought the other up, aiming around his brother's shoulder. “Flashlight?”

“Yeah.” Dean put his left hand into his pocket and brought out his mag-light. He turned it on and shone the bright beam around the motel room slowly.

“Anything?” Sam turned and looked down either side of the motel, then the parking lot behind them, alert for any danger.

Dean shook his head and moved further into the room. He went cautiously over to the wall and leaned up to look down into the upside-down-seashell-shaped shade. He flashed the light into it for a moment and frowned. “Bulb's smashed.”

Sam ran the toe of his sneaker over the carpet under the light and shook his head. “Or exploded. There's glass fragments in the carpet.” He looked back up as Dean's light swung through the room. “Wait. Aim the light at the beds.” Dean did and Sam groaned. “Oh, man.”

“What?” Dean spared a glance at his brother.

Sam let the shotgun under his left arm slip out and set it on the table. “Uh... your bed's made. You never make your bed.” He brushed past Dean and went to the bathroom. Sam turned the light on and gave a laugh. “And we have fresh towels.”

“Are you friggin' kidding me? Room service?” Dean lowered his gun and then spun at a soft knock on the door behind him. He brought his gun and light up and into the face of a terrified looking man in a green apron who was holding a light bulb in one hand.

“Whoa! Dude! I was just... please don't kill me!”

“Dean.” Sam quickly put the other shotgun on the bathroom counter and went back out. “Hey. Sorry. He's just... forgot to take his meds today.” Sam laughed and moved in front of his brother to hide the gun.

“Wow. You guys are... a b-bulb blew.” The man from room service held up his bulb and held it out to Sam. “I – I – I was g-gonna replace it.”

Sam smiled kindly and took the bulb. “Thanks.”

“You guys not see the 'do not disturb' sign on the damn door?” Dean asked angrily and glared at the young man while Sam took his flashlight from him and went to the light.

“Th-there wasn't one.” The man gestured to the handle of the room door and swallowed hard. “I... have a g-good night.”

Dean watched him dash out of sight and rolled his eyes. He put his gun up and went to the door, pushing it closed with a bang. “Of all the... you can stop laughin' now, Sammy.”

Sam grinned and worked to swallow his laughter back as he reached into the shade and tried to get a hold of what was left of the base of the bulb to unscrew it. “Dude, that was paranoid even for us.”

Dean went to the weapons bag on the table and used the light from the bathroom to dig out the container of salt. “Yeah, 'cause no evil thing's ever busted into a motel room before.”

Sam bit his lip when he felt glass slice into the pads of his fingers but at last was able to remove the broken bulb from the socket. He let it drop on the floor and pulled the new bulb from his pocket, quickly screwing it in and blinking furiously as he was blinded when it flickered to life. “Crap.”

Dean chuckled when Sam wrenched his head away from the light and went to the door, now that he could see it. “Serves you right.” He opened the salt and bent down to pour a fresh line in front of the door.

“Jerk.” Sam sucked on his wounded fingers and flicked off the flashlight. He looked over and rolled his eyes when he found his brother hunched over in front of the door and heard his groan. “Should have let me do that. Here. Come on. Easy.”

Dean grudgingly allowed Sam to pull him slowly upright again because his ribs were definitely protesting the movement, but pulled away the second he was vertical. “Get off.” He brushed Sam's hand away and ignored the amused look on his face. “Bitch.”

“We need to unwrap your ribs so you can sleep. Shut up and take your shirt off.” Sam waved an arm at his brother and went to the bathroom to grab a washcloth for his bleeding fingers.

Dean chuckled. “Aren't you even gonna buy me a drink first?”

Sam turned back and flipped Dean off with a bloody middle finger. “Please shut up now.”

“Too easy, Sammy.” Dean got his jacket and flannel off without a problem but his t-shirt was a whole different matter and he couldn't do more than get it up under his arms. “Dammit. Don't laugh,” he warned Sam in a dark voice when his brother came back and started to grin. “I will hurt you in your sleep.”

“Not if you can't move, moron.”

“You're not puttin' bloody fingers all over me.” Dean knocked his brother's right hand away.

“It's stopped bleeding already, you big baby.” Sam held up his fingers to prove it and shook his head when Dean moved further away. “Fine. I'll put Band-Aids on them.” He turned to go back to the bathroom. “Ya know, it’s not like I haven’t bled all over you on a fairly regular basis over the past 10 years. What’s your deal this time?”

“Can unwrap my own damn ribs,” Dean snarled and started unwrapping the bandage around his ribs. “You look like shit, you know.” He smirked. “More than normal. How you feelin'?” Dean asked when he heard Sam cough in the bathroom.

“I'm fine.” Sam grabbed the bottle of Tylenol and swallowed two before he went back out so Dean wouldn't have a chance to order him to take them. He was still feeling the after-effects of the shtriga attack, but that didn't mean he was going to curl up in his bed until he felt better, no matter what Dean in the midst of his attack of over-protectiveness might wish. He stepped back out into the room and resisted the urge to laugh at his brother who was hopelessly trying to unwind the bandage from around his chest with arms he couldn't move properly.

“Shuddup,” Dean said angrily. He closed his eyes, blew out a breath and admitted defeat. “Fine.”

Sam wisely kept his smart remarks to himself and knelt down next to him. He gently pulled Dean's left arm up onto his own shoulder to rest there out of the way and bent to his task. Sam felt his brother surreptitiously roll his forearm into the back of his neck under his hair and rolled his eyes yet again. “Dude, I'm fine.”

“You're still running a damn fever,” Dean said as he felt the heat from his brother's neck through his arm.

Sam quickly unwound the bandage from around Dean's chest and leaned back, tossing the newly re-rolled bandage to the nightstand. “You need to relax about this already.” He saw the obstinate turn of Dean's face and sighed. “Fine. Just... stop worrying about me where I can hear you.” He smiled and went to his own bed, dropping down with a weary sigh. “Look. I'm even going to bed.”

“Friggin' miracles never cease,” Dean groused and tugged his shirt back down, but he smiled where Sam couldn't see him.

“I'll find someone from the Chickasaw nation to call in the morning.” Sam flopped over onto his bed and into his pillow and made a half-assed effort of pulling the blankets out from under himself.

Dean snorted but left his brother alone, figuring Sam would likely kick him if he actually went over and tried to sort out his blankets for him. “Night, bitch,” Dean said softly and gingerly climbed into his own bed before turning off the light.

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Dean snuffled into his pillow sleepily, raised his arms above his head to stretch as he rolled to his back and suddenly remembered why that was a bad idea as his bruised ribs screamed at him. “Crap!” he gasped and brought his arms back down quickly to cross over his chest. He cracked his eyes when he didn't hear the expected concerned inquiry from his brother and looked around the room. “Sam?” The room was empty.

“Aw, what the hell? S'too early for this crap.” Dean groaned and rolled carefully up to sit. He glanced over at the clock to check the time and saw the yellow slip of paper, a note from his brother on where he'd gone no doubt. Dean instantly relaxed just seeing a note, but before he muster the energy to reach out for it, the room door swung open and a breeze blew it away.

“Morning, sunshine.” Sam smiled at his brother and then chuckled at the hair matted up into half a Mohawk on one side of his brother's head. “How are your ribs?”

“Where the hell'd you go? And that better be coffee for me.” Dean glared up at his little brother.

“Out for coffee, dumbass. Here.” Sam handed one of the cups over and went to the table to set down his bag. “Got donuts too. I was up two hours ago.”

Dean narrowed his eyes and looked at the clock again while he sipped his coffee. Sam couldn't have gotten more than four hours of sleep, and Dean could see the bags under Sam's eyes as he turned away. “How's your plague this morning?”

Sam snorted a laugh. “It's fine and we have a problem.” He sat down in one of the chairs, rubbing a careful hand over the new bandage on his neck and sighed. “I talked to a guy at the closest Chickasaw reservation. The map's wrong.”

“What do you mean wrong?” Dean got up stiffly and resisted the urge to stretch, knowing he'd pay for it. “And quit screwin' with your neck before you reopen those things.”

“The cemetery was never under the restaurant. The guy I spoke to said it was actually about ten miles west of here.” Sam raised a brow at his brother. “That means our piss ed-off , torch-h appy spirits are not pissed-o ff, torch-happy Chickasaw.”

“Well, crap. That puts us back at square friggin' one.” Dean set his coffee down and picked up the rolled bandage from the nightstand. “Let me shower and then we'll figure this out. Man, I need to brush my fuzzy teeth.”

Sam watched his brother go into the bathroom. Once the door closed, he slumped back into the chair and allowed himself to close his eyes. He still felt like hell, but there was no way he could let Dean know that, not with his big brother the walking wounded himself and probably giving in to his own pain behind the closed bathroom door . He groaned and sat back up, pulling his laptop over to try and find them a clue.

By the time Dean emerged from the bathroom, he felt less sore and stiff and had even managed to wrap his ribs on his own. He shook his head when he found Sam hunched over his laptop. “You find anything or are you just cuddling that thing?”

Sam gave his brother a bitch-face and leaned back. “I think I might have. I'm not really sure though. I was thinking if the spirits aren't Chickasaw, then something else had to summon them. T hen I remembered all that authentic-l ooking Greek art in the restaurant. I mean, there were paintings and mosaics and even those pillars in the dining room. Maybe one of them is haunted.”

“Huh.” Dean pulled clean clothes out of his duffel and started getting dressed. “Any idea which one's our culprit?”

Sam shook his head. “No; but I do have the owner's address. We should go talk to his wife. She may know something. If not, there's also the architect he hired. I've got his business address too.”

“Well, at least we've got something to go on now.” Dean pulled a flannel on over his tee and cradled his sore ribs for a moment. “You up to this?”

Sam stared and then rolled his eyes. “Seriously? You're asking me that?” He stood and closed the laptop. “Dude. You look like you're ready to fall over, and I'm the one you're worried about? You have issues.”

“Yeah; and they all start with the letter 'S'!”

“Weak, Dean.” Sam chuckled and pulled his jacket back on.

“Shuddup.” Dean followed Sam outside, grabbing his leather from the bed as he went. “Breakfast and then murder, dude. I'm starving.”

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“I really don't know what I can tell you.” Mrs. Dunkirk shook her head sadly. “My husband didn't talk with me about his restaurant much. I mean, not in detail. He did spent a lot of time with Jack, Jackson Leeds, his architect. I really wish I could tell you something useful. It's... it's so awful what happened to him.”

Sam smiled softly in sympathy and patted her hand. “We understand this is a difficult time for you.”

Dean nodded and moved away to prowl the room and look around while Sam sat next to the widow. Her husband had died in the night, and to Dean's mind, she didn't look all that broken up about it, although she was certainly turning the weepy eyes on his little brother. He could tell by the look on Sam's face that he wasn't quite buying her act either.

“I don't understand why investigators would be interested in the restaurant.” Mrs. Dunkirk looked into Sam's eyes and dropped her own demurely. “And, please, call me Molly.”

“Molly.” Inwardly, Sam rolled his eyes while he gave a friendly smile. He'd spoken to countless widows over the years, and there was no mistaking that Mrs. Dunkirk wasn't as broken up about her husband's death as she was claiming to be. He hoped it was because the man had been a known philanderer and not something more suspect. “There's some concern from his investors that some of the artwork in the restaurant may be counterfeit or stolen. The insurance company wants us to look into the provenance of everything he had installed to verify where it came from and that the insurance isn't being provided in error.”

“Insurance? ” Molly's eyes narrowed. “So, you're going to check where everything came from?”

Sam nodded. “We'll get a list from the architect if you don't have one.”

Molly nodded and rose. “Yes. Yes, he'll have that.”

Sam watched her pace away across the room as if in a daze and met his brother's eyes, raising one of his brows.

Dean gave a shrug and a shake of his head. He didn't know exactly what was up with the woman, but he didn't like it either. “We'll get going. Leave you to, uh... mourn. Sorry for your loss.”

Molly seemed to shake herself out of wherever she had gone in her thoughts and moved quickly to meet them at the door. “Thank you for... just thank you.”

Sam easily took her hand and shook it when she held it out and watched Dean more grudgingly do the same. “We'll be in touch.” Sam pulled the door open and stepped out onto the porch with his brother. Once the door had closed and they were walking down the drive toward the car he frowned. “Something is off about her.”

“Ya' think?” Dean shook out his hand and saw Sam rubbing his as well. “Woman's got a grip like a damn vice.”

Sam nodded and looked at his hand and the faint red marks from her fingers that were even now fading. “Guess she doesn't know her own strength.”

“So, architect?” Dean went around to the driver's side and looked across the roof at his brother.

“Architect.” Sam pulled his door open and looked back at the Dunkirk's home one last time. “Hopefully, this Jackson Leeds guy knows something useful.”

“Yeah.” Dean let his eyes linger on the house before he climbed behind the wheel. His instincts were screaming at him that they'd be back to talk to the widow.

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Sam adjusted the jacket of his suit and knocked on the door of Jackson's trailer again. The construction site they had tracked him down too was empty for the day, but his office had confirmed he was still on site. “Mr. Leeds?”

Dean shook his head and walked down the length of the long trailer. He tugged over a crate and set it below one of the windows. “I don't like this.”

“Careful,” Sam warned as his brother hopped up to stand on the flimsy crate and look in the window. “See anything?”

Dean rubbed a hand at the dirty glass and tried to get a clear look through the slats of the blinds on the inside of the window. It was dark inside but for a single light somewhere to his right, closer to the door. “Dunno. Can't make anything out.” He hopped down and gave Sam a nod. “Open her up.”

Sam smirked and pulled his lockpicks out. He glanced around the construction site to be sure there was no one watching and then bent to the lock. It only took him a moment to jimmy the simple lock open and he straightened as he put his picks away, drew his gun, and put a hand on the door handle. “Ready?”

Dean drew his own weapon and nodded. “Do it.”

Sam pulled the door open, letting sunlight stream in to the dimly lit interior. He walked cautiously inside onto faded, brown linoleum. The first thing that hit him was the smell. “Dean.” It was the unmistakable reek of burnt flesh, and one that either Winchester would know anywhere.

“Son of a bitch.” Dean bit off the curse and moved in beside his brother. He took the lead with his gun out and swept the narrow interior for any sign of their man. “Jackson? Yo! Jack! Please tell me that's not you we're smellin'.”

“They can leave the restaurant?” Sam asked in dismay and followed Dean further into the trailer, past an architect's tilted table covered in floor pl ans and bluep rints. “That is really not good.”

“And why would they go after this guy?” Dean reached a door halfway back and quickly shoved it open. The smell grew to be almost overwhelming, and he put his left arm over his nose and mouth while his eyes watered. “Crap. He's here.” The back room was lined with filing cabinets, and, on the floor in the center, was the burnt corpse of a man. He was charred and covered in ash like the other bodies, and Dean thought he could actually still hear the crackle of his skin burning.

Sam lowered his gun and brushed past Dean into the room. “Check the bl ueprints on the desk. I'm gonna check the files in here.”

“Dude, I'll check the files.” Dean tried to move Sam back out but his little brother gave him a stubborn look.

“I'm fine. I can handle it.” Sam knew Dean was trying to protect him in some small way from the horror of yet another burned body, but he'd deal with it. This was the job.

Dean blew out a breath and nodded. “Alright.” He went back out into the front of the trailer and kept his gun out. He went to the table and bent to look at the papers stacked on the table. “Hey, these are for the restaurant!” He could see the name of the place typed in the bottom corner and started leafing through them.

Sam went from cabinet to cabinet, keeping his eyes away from the dead man in the middle of the room and pulled open a drawer. He flicked through the files and shifted so the light from the window illuminated the labels while the smell continued to assault his senses. He had to close his eyes for a moment and breathe through his mouth as the image of Jess in her last moments blazed through his mind.

“Sam.”

Sam jumped and jerked his head around. “Yeah?”

Dean took in his brother's pale face and the way he was trying not to gasp for breath and frowned. “You find the records yet?” He resisted the urge to just bundle Sam out of the trailer like he was a little kid and hide him from this.

“Uh, yeah.” Sam shook himself and pushed away the memory. He turned back to the cabinet and pulled out several, thick files. “Got 'em.”

“Good. Let's get the hell outta here before someone comes looking for this poor bastard.” Dean waved a roll of papers. “Got the floor plans for the restaurant too.”

Sam followed Dean out of the back room. He glanced around and stopped, looking down at the floor beside the desk. He frowned and bent down. “Hang on a sec.”

“Find something?” Dean leaned over the desk and snuck a look out of the blinds. So far, the construction site was still empty. Their luck was holding.

Sam reached back and pulled out a chunk of stone. He stood and held it up in the sunlight. “Huh. This looks like some kind of marble maybe.” He turned it over in his hand and the sun caught on the jagged edges where it had been broken. “Chipped away from something. Kind of an odd thing to have here.”

Dean looked back and spotted the dead man's cell phone on another table. He scooped it up and into his pocket. “Come on. You can nerd out over the rock back at the motel.”

“Shuddup.” Sam slapped his brother's shoulder and followed him out of the trailer. They jogged back across the construction lot to the Impala and were thankfully away before anyone saw them. Sam pulled his phone out and dialed. He saw Dean's curious look and put the phone to his ear. “Yeah, hi. This is Agent Carter. Right, that FBI guy.” Sam smirked and rolled his eyes. “Do you know where else we might find Mr. Leeds? He wasn't at his trailer on the site. It was locked and there was no one there.” Sam listened to the voice on the other and smiled. “Alright, thanks. We'll try him again tomorrow then.”

“Nice, Sammy.” Dean nodded with approval. “Covering our asses.”

“Well, I figured in case someone remembered the FBI calling to find the guy, we didn't want to be the last ones who saw him.” Sam put his phone away and picked the stone up again as they drove. He held it up to the window and looked more closely at it. “There's something about this.”

“It's a hunk of rock,” Dean scoffed and watched the road as they headed back toward town. The miles of farmland passed by on one side while the forest suddenly appeared and hugged the road on their right.

Sam shook his head. “I feel like I've seen it before.” He lowered the stone and looked out at the trees, thinking.

“Restaurant?” Dean suggested. He opened his mouth to say something more, and the smell of something smoldering began to fill the car. “What the...” His eyes flicked up to the rearview mirror and Dean startled in his seat. “Sam! Back seat!”

Sam twisted in his seat and stared in shock as one of the burned figures from the restaurant began to manifest in the back seat. “Shit!” He tried to think what they had up front that could help them with the spirit when he saw one long arm stretching out and reaching for his brother's unprotected neck. “No!”

Dean jerked again with Sam's shout in his ears. He could only watch as Sam turned to face the back of the car and grabbed hold of the thing reaching for him. Dean wrenched the wheel hard for the side of the road when Sam let loose a pain-filled cry and banged into his shoulder. “Crap! Sammy?” The car rumbled and bounced off the asphalt, onto the verge and toward the trees as the smell of burning flesh assaulted Dean. Panic gripped him in fear for his brother as Sam jerked away and back into the dash. Dean turned to look into the backseat and grunted as the car suddenly stopped and he was thrown forward into the wheel.

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_To Be Continued..._


	4. Chapter 4

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_Sam shook his head. “I feel like I've seen it before.” He lowered the stone and looked out at the trees, thinking._

_“Restaurant?” Dean suggested. He opened his mouth to say something more and the smell of something smoldering began to fill the car. “What the...” His eyes flicked up to the rearview mirror and Dean startled in his seat. “Sam! Back seat!”_

_Sam twisted in his seat and stared in shock as one of the burned figures from the restaurant began to manifest in the back seat. “Shit!” He tried to think what they had up front that could help them with the spirit when he saw one long arm stretching out and reaching for his brother's neck. “No!”_

_Dean jerked again with Sam's shout in his ears. He could only watch as Sam turned to face the back of the car and grabbed hold of the thing reaching for him. Dean wrenched the wheel hard for the side of the road when Sam let loose a pain-filled cry and banged into his shoulder. “Crap! Sammy?” The car rumbled and bounced off the asphalt, onto the verge and toward the trees as the smell of burning flesh assaulted Dean. Panic gripped him in fear for his brother as Sam jerked away and back into the dash. Dean turned to look into the backseat and grunted as the car suddenly stopped and he was thrown forward into the wheel._

**Chapter 4**

Dean groaned and tried to open his eyes, but they felt heavier than they should. He felt like he was falling, or maybe crawling, and realized he was being pulled and tugged. The movement made pain thunder through his head and he groaned more loudly. After a moment, as cold air washed over his face, he heard a voice and couldn't help but try to respond to it. It was Sam's voice and it was filled with fear and pain.

“Sammy?”

“Dean!” Sam nearly sobbed with the sound of his brother's voice. He pulled on Dean, dragging him out of the Impala across the seat and out the passenger door with him. Pain flashed up his right arm, but he ignored it in favor of getting Dean out where he at least might have a chance at protecting them both.

Dean grumbled in protest when his legs thumped down and opened his eyes at last. “M'I on'a ground? S'goin' on?” He looked blearily up at his car and his eyes widened comically when he saw the front end planted against several trees. “Wh'happend to my baby?”

“Ghost.” Sam panted and dragged Dean further from the car into the shade of the trees. He leaned his brother gently against a tree and put a hand to his shoulder. “Just... stay here for a sec. Be right back.”

“Huh? Wha'? No.” Dean slapped a hand out to catch Sam but missed and watched his brother walk quickly to the Impala's trunk. He was forgetting something. He knew he was, but Dean couldn't make his jumbled mind focus. He put a hand to his forehead and felt blood, sticky and drying, running down the left side of his face and groaned. He dropped his hand to his chest and the groan stuttered off into a pained gasp. His bruised ribs felt like they'd graduated to broken.

“Sammy?” Dean looked up and blinked, forcing his eyes to focus, and watched his brother stagger back toward him from the open trunk. He frowned in confusion when he saw what looked like singe marks on the cuffs of Sam's right sleeve, and as Sam neared, the wind blew the smell of burned flesh to him. The smell brought the memory back in a rush -- the car, the burned ghost in the backseat, and his brother trying to stop it from reaching him and the ensuing cry of pain, Sam in pain. “Sam!”

“Hey, hey. Stop. Dean, stop!” Sam knelt quickly next to Dean and stopped him from frantically trying to get up. He let the bag he'd grabbed drop to the ground next to them with a thump and put his hands on his brother's shoulders. “Just sit back and try not to move too much.”

“You're hurt,” Dean said fiercely and made a grab for his brother's arms, missing as his vision went in and out of focus. “What'd that ghost bitch do to you?”

“Dude, you're the one who hit the steering wheel. For a minute I thought...” Sam shoved that thought aside for the moment. He’d deal with those terrifying moments later. He pushed Dean back and waited to make sure he'd stay there. The blood on the side of Dean's face was worrisome but Sam was more concerned for how his ribs had handled the rough impact. “Stay there. We've got bigger things to worry about.”

Dean watched as Sam pulled a container of salt out of the bag beside him and stood. “Ghost?”

“I dunno.” Sam shook his head and forced his sore body back to its feet. He opened the salt and started pouring a wide circle around them. He glanced down at his arms and looked quickly away again. He could still feel the burning sensation and wasn't in any hurry to see just how bad it was. “When we crashed, it kind of went sideways into the door and vanished.”

Dean closed his eyes as Sam moved behind him and the tree and nodded with a smirk. “Iron in the frame of the car.” He chuckled and then regretted it as his ribs screamed in protest.

“Good to know.” Sam closed the circle and looked out at the car. He knelt back down and set the salt aside. “It has to be the stone I picked up.” He pulled a shotgun out of the bag and checked to make sure it was loaded with salt rounds. “It came to me right as we crashed. It's a piece off of one of those pillars in the restaurant. Same kind of marble. Someone must have chipped it off and then left it in the trailer to get those freaky spirits to go after the architect.”

“And then you just had to pick it up.” Dean sighed and opened his eyes again. “How's my car?”

Sam smiled and patted Dean's shoulder. “Probably better off than we are. Just... sit tight. I'll be right back.”

“Whoa. No.” Dean succeeded in grabbing hold of Sam's arm this time and tugged him back. He didn't miss the involuntary hiss of pain from Sam or the way he tried to jerk his arm free.

“Dean, I need to get the stone.” Sam managed to free his arm from Dean's hold and stood. “We can't leave it out here for someone else to stumble over and die, and we can't take it with us without protecting ourselves.

“What are you gonna do?” Dean eased up a little higher on the tree and braced his ribs.

“I'm... still working on that.” Sam rolled out his shoulders and grimaced with pain. His back had slammed into the dash of the Impala and bent his head a little too far forward against the roof during the impact. He was going to need about ten hot showers to work out the kinks from all the pulled muscles.

“Make it quick, dammit.” Dean itched with the need to go with him, but Sam was right; he wasn't in any condition at that moment to stand. His head was still reeling from the blow during the crash and he could barely breathe through the pain in his ribs. He reached over and caught the strap of the bag, pulling it to him and smiled when he saw the butt of the second shotgun. Dean pulled it out and rested the barrels on one bent knee. “Gotch'er back, Sammy.”

Sam moved cautiously toward the Impala. He put a hand into his pocket and turned on his brother's EMF meter, glad that he'd thought to grab it when he'd seen it in the trunk. He blew out a relieved breath when it remained silent and picked up his pace. He winced at the sight of the obviously bent hood of the car and knew Dean was going to have a minor breakdown over it.

“Ok,” Sam whispered as he neared the open passenger door warily. He kept his ears tuned to the meter in his pocket and knelt beside the open door to look for the chunk of marble. “Where are you?”

Dean watched and inched himself further up against the tree. His head was slowly beginning to clear. He tensed as, even from a few yards away, he heard the sudden whine of the EMF meter in his brother's pocket. “Sam!”

“I know!” Sam called over his shoulder. He leaned the shotgun against the car and shoved his left hand under the bench seat. He swept his hand back and forth, feeling empty wrappers and a forgotten bottle of something, probably water. His fingers closed around the cool, rough surface of the marble and he pulled it out. “Got it!”

“Hurry up!”

Sam rolled his eyes and leaned back, using the car to get back to his feet. He pulled his shotgun back up, turned and stumbled back into the car in surprise as one of the burned figures appeared between him and his brother. “Crap!” Sam ducked away to his right, away from the spirit and heard Dean's shotgun blast over the whine of the EMF. Sam let the shotgun slide quickly through his hand until he had his finger on the trigger and straightened as the meter went silent again.

“You done screwin' around?” Dean yelled angrily. “Get back over here, dammit!” He wasn't mad at his brother. He was pissed at the whole situation, not the least of which was whatever damage his car had suffered in the crash.

Sam smirked and went quickly back to Dean, stepping carefully over the line of salt. He knelt beside him and set his shotgun on the ground. “I'm fine.”

“Bullshit.” Dean sighed and then smiled wearily at his brother. “You're as fine as I am. So, what's the plan for the rock?”

Sam set the chunk of marble just outside their circle of protection and picked up the salt. “Figured I'd try the obvious first.” He shrugged and poured some salt out over the stone. He set it aside and fished in the bag again until he found the lighter fluid and squirted some of that. The spirit returned as Sam pulled out a lighter and he shifted to the side so Dean had a clear shot if they needed it. He reached in his pocket and turned off the annoying whine from the EMF meter, no longer needing it.

“Cross your fingers.” Sam spun the wheel, sparking a flame to life and tossed it at the marble. The flame caught with a soft 'whoosh' and Sam sat back on his heels, waiting expectantly. The spirit flickered like a bad film reel for a moment and then vanished. Sam was about to smile in victory when it reappeared next to the car. “Dammit.”

“Got any other bright ideas?” Dean scowled at the spirit as it watched them from beside the Impala. The flames on the marble sputtered and died away and Sam was digging in the bag again. “You're not goin' back out there until we get this locked down, so I hope you got somethin' useful in your bag of tricks.”

Sam chuckled and pulled out a bottle of holy water. “Maybe don't heckle the guy trying to save our asses.” He ignored the light thump of his brother's foot to his hip and opened the jar. Sam held it out over the chunk of now-singed marble and slowly let it pour out over the top in a stream.

The spirit of the burned man began to flicker again. It vanished and reappeared less than a foot from Sam, and Dean brought his shotgun up. “It's not working.”

“Just give it a second.” Sam kept the stream steady and his eyes on the spirit. Even in the light of day, it was still a little horrifying to see with the smell of burning stone and flesh stinging his nose. He could almost feel heat as one of its hands began to near his face, and then it vanished. There was a low roar of sound and it was gone.

Sam sat back and looked around. “I think that actually worked.”

“I'd feel better about it if you didn't sound so surprised.” Dean snorted a soft laugh and sat up a little away from the tree. His ribs hurt but he managed it. “You think it's safe now?”

“Probably not.” Sam shook his head. “Odds are as soon as the holy water dries, it'll be back.” He picked up the chunk of fist-sized marble, shrugged, and pushed it into the wide mouth of the half-full jar of holy water. The marble dropped in with a dull clink of stone on glass and Sam screwed the lid back on. “That should keep us safe for now.”

“Good. Get me up, dammit.” Dean took hold of Sam's arm and used the shotgun with his other hand to push until he was standing. He slumped down over his chest with a groan. “Damn that hurts.”

“You admitting to pain, it must be bad. Come on.” Sam took the shotgun from his brother and shoved everything back into the bag. He helped Dean walk across to the car and left him leaning on the hood while he went to secure everything in the trunk.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean growled as he moved around to the front and got a good look at the damage. The hood on the driver's side was bowed up unnaturally. “Gonna take me days to pound that out. Dammit.” He heard his brother snicker and then cough, and Dean glared him into silence as Sam closed the trunk. “Don't say it.”

Sam wiped a hand down to his face to stop the laughter and nodded. “Right. Nope. Not saying anything. Also not sure you should be driving after that crack to the head.”

“Get in the damn car.” Dean stalked around to the driver's side and let out an inarticulate sound of rage. The door was blocked by another tree. “Shut up, Sammy. Swear to God, I will leave your ass on the side of the damn road if you start laughin'.”

Sam took several deep breaths and swallowed hard in a bid for control while his brother made his way back around the car. He pulled the passenger door open wider when Dean reached it and smirked. “You uh... you need any help getting in?” He let Dean punch him in the shoulder and smiled while his big brother sat down stiffly and slid across the seat. Sam got in and glanced over as Dean turned the keys. He nodded to himself when the engine dutifully rumbled to life and pulled his door closed. The humor had helped to defuse the lingering tension in them both; they had come far too close to being barbecued by the spirit.

“That's my girl,” Dean said with a smile and rubbed a hand briefly over the dash. He backed them away from the trees and back up onto the road, listening to the engine with a careful ear for anything out of place. “Think all the damage is cosmetic. Give my baby a little facelift and she'll be good as new.”

Sam laughed as he bent and collected all the papers from the floor at his feet. “It's personal now, isn't it?”

“Hell, yes. Knockin' me around is one thing, but no one screws with baby.” Dean glared up at the rearview mirror, relieved that the backseat was still empty. He let his eyes slide to his little brother for a second and smirked. “And don't think I don't remember who brought the damn evil rock into my car.”

“Dude.” Sam put his hands up in surrender. “How was I supposed to know?”

Dean chuckled and patted the steering wheel as he drove them back into town. He looked over at Sam again and frowned when he saw him looking at the cuffs of his jacket. “You get singed by that thing?”

Sam nodded and lowered his hands to his lap, holding on to the papers. “Yeah. Hurts like hell, but I don't think it's too bad.” He still hadn't pulled his sleeve back to actually check. He didn't want to see the damage until he could do something about it. His right wrist was a misery of burning heat under the singed remains of the sleeve. “What about you? Maybe we should stop and get your ribs looked at.”

Dean snorted. “Please. Like I need some dude in a white coat to tell me my ribs are bruised.”

Sam frowned but let it go. As long as Dean was walking and talking, getting him into a clinic for x-rays wasn't going to happen. “Fine; but if you get pneumonia, I will handcuff you in your sleep and carry you to the nearest emergency room.”

Dean barked a laugh and put a hand over his aching ribs. “Like to see you try it, princess.” The rest of the drive passed quickly until Dean parked in front of their motel room with a sigh of relief. He climbed stiffly out from behind the wheel and glared at his brother when Sam looked like he was going to come over and help him. “I'm good. Get the door.”

Sam looked at the trunk, debating on bringing in the piece of marble and decided against it. He'd rather have the spirit on the outside of the motel room if the holy water stopped working. He opened the door and went inside. “You should let me check your ribs.”

Dean rolled his eyes and closed the door behind him. “Fine; but you're lettin' me look at that arm.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sam went to the bathroom and brought the first aid kit out, setting it on the table. He watched Dean shrugging his leather jacket off with his face screwed up in pain and caught it before it fell to the floor. “You sure nothing's broken?”

Dean shook his head and sat down while Sam knelt in front of him, resigned to being checked over. “Cracked maybe but I don't think so.” He grabbed a rag from the kit and wiped at the blood on his face. “Friggin' head wounds always bleed like a bitch.”

Sam nodded and pulled his brother's tee-shirt up and out of the way. He unwound the too-loose bandage around Dean's chest and set it aside. He pressed gently up the left side of his brother's chest, feeling along each rib and grimaced in sympathy as Dean hissed out a pained breath. “Sorry.”

“You tryin' to break my damn ribs? Crap,” Dean groaned but didn't stop his brother.

Sam smirked and picked the bandage up again. “Think you're right. They're just really damn bruised.” He carefully wound the bandage over bruised skin, pulling it as tight as he dared. “You're really gonna be sore tomorrow.”

“Dude, I'm sore now.” Dean let his shirt fall when Sam leaned back. “Your turn, jeopardy boy. Shirt off.” He pushed Sam into the chair next to him. “Get your jacket off.” Dean stood and went to the bathroom while Sam worked his arm out of the sleeve. He filled the ice bucket with the coldest water he could manage and soaked a towel as well before going back out.

Sam tugged his flannel off and hissed a breath between his teeth as he got a good look at his wrist. “Wow.”

“Not the word I was gonna use,” Dean said darkly as he sat back down. He took Sam's arm and set it on the table gently. The spirit had burned the imprint of its hand into Sam's flesh. It was raw, red, blistered in a few places, and, like the victims bodies in the morgue, there was a fine layer of what looked like ash surrounding the burns.

“Yeah, that hurts.” Sam felt a sweat break out as he looked at the burns. Now that he'd seen them, the pain seemed to explode to a new level and he twitched while trying to hold still.

Dean took the towel he'd wet and laid it over Sam's arm. He held it as carefully as he could and watched his brother's face pale. “Easy. Take a deep breath, dude.”

Sam nodded and sat back in the chair while he worked to not yank his arm away from Dean. “So, don't let those things get a hold of you. Make... crap... make a note of that.”

Dean gave a short laugh and peeled the towel back slowly, hating that he was causing his brother more pain, even if it was necessary. “Ok, this doesn't actually look too bad.” It looked awful and painful as hell, but sucking it up was the Winchester way. He set the towel aside and turned Sam's arm back and forth in the light to get a good look at the extent of the burn. “Think we can just put some burn cream on this and wrap it and you'll be good.”

Sam nodded. “Sounds good.”

Dean slathered burn cream over Sam's arm as carefully as he could. He glanced up and sighed. Sam's eyes were squeezed closed, brows drawn together and he was panting softly through the pain. “Cream'll start numbing it in a sec.”

Sam gave him a short nod and opened his eyes again while Dean wrapped a soft length of bandage around his wrist to protect it. “I need to go through those papers and blueprints.”

“We'll do it over lunch. Shut up,” Dean said quickly when Sam opened his mouth to protest. “You're eating or you can just watch me eat. Whatever. But I need food and so do you.”

Sam took his arm back and got up. The burn slowly began to lessen as the analgesic in the cream took effect, and he took a deep breath of relief. “I can research while you stuff your face. No problem.”

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

Sam rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. He bent further over the table to look more closely at one of the blueprints. The sounds of the diner flowed around him unnoticed as he looked between the blueprint and the sheets of inventory beside it. He jerked back in surprise when a french fry struck him between the eyes and fell to the table. “Dude!”

Dean snickered and shrugged stiffly. “You know you're supposed to be eating that healthy crap, right?” He picked up the plate with his brother's chicken salad and dropped it in front of him with a clatter.

“Knock it off, jerk.” Sam rolled his eyes and moved the plate out of the way. He did grab a forkful of salad and pop it in his mouth to placate his brother before looking back at the papers in front of him. He rested his aching, right wrist on the edge of the table and narrowed his eyes while he pulled one of the papers closer.

“What?” Dean asked curiously.

“Oh, man.”

“What?” Dean reached over and snatched the page from his brother's hand, turning it around to scan it. “What'd you find?”

“I think I know where those ghosts come from and it isn't good.” Sam sat back and watched Dean's face, waiting for the moment when he saw it and nodded as Dean's mouth fell open in surprise.

“Oh, no way.” Dean set the page down and stared at Sam. “You gotta be kidding me.”

“Pompeii.” Sam pulled one of the blueprints up and straightened it out. He pointed and tapped his finger in a wide circle. “According to the purchase order, every one of these pillars came from Pompeii. There's no way that was legal.” He frowned and started digging through the other paperwork. “It had to be a black market purchase. I mean you can't just take architecture out of Pompeii, and they somehow got their hands on seven pillars.”

“Who steals pillars?” Dean set the purchase order down and braced his arm around his sore ribs. “How does no one notice someone ripping off half a building?”

Sam pulled his laptop bag up and set the computer up in front of him. “I don't know. Bet I can find out though. Someone had to have noticed they went missing.”

“So, what? Those freaky spirits are actually charred Romans?” Dean snorted and threw another fry at his brother, grinning as it hit him in the face and bounced onto the keyboard. “Score.”

“You are a giant child,” Sam said with irritation in his voice and kicked Dean's leg under the table.

Dean smirked and left Sam alone in favor of finishing his burger. He looked around the diner and his eyes widened in surprise when he saw the waitress they had rescued emerge from the kitchen. “Holy crap.” Her face lit up with a smile when Dean's eyes met hers. “Check it out, Sammy.”

“Huh?” Sam pulled the lid of the laptop down and smiled when he recognized the woman suddenly standing at their table. “Hi. How are you?”

“I'm fine thanks to you two. I'm Tara, by the way.” The waitress blushed prettily. “I can't believe you took those creeps on like that.” She sucked in a horrified breath when she saw the stitches on the side of Sam's neck. “Oh, my God!”

“Huh?” Sam slapped his left hand up to his throat and groaned, realizing he hadn't put a fresh bandage over the cuts from the attack. “It's fine. Really. I'm fine.”

“I'm so sorry.” Tara shook her head and stopped herself from brushing her fingers over his neck.

“It wasn't your fault.” Dean smiled and took her hand, rescuing her from staring at his brother's injured neck. “We're just glad we could be there to get those jackasses off you.” He smiled again and squeezed her hand. “And thanks for calling the cops and not just running off.” Dean nodded his head toward his brother. “Probably saved his life.” It came out softer than he meant it too as the truth of that statement washed over him. He had come far too close to losing Sam because those punks had gotten lucky. He was still furious.

“Thank you,” Sam added his own and reached out to clasp her elbow briefly.

“Well, I should... get back to work. You know.” Tara smiled, blushed at Dean and rolled her eyes at herself. “Anyway... yo ur meal's on me, so you know. I talked to the boss.” She pointed back toward the kitchen. “You don't pay as long as you're in town.” She turned with a grin and left before either of them could argue. It was the least she could do.

Dean chuckled and shook his head. “Wow. Kinda nice to be thanked for a change. And free food?” He grinned. “I could get used to that.”

Sam snorted a laugh and opened his laptop again. “If we stay here too long, you won't fit behind the wheel anymore.”

“Shuddup.” Dean pushed his now empty plate away and quirked a brow. “Got anything yet?”

Sam clicked through a few pages, checking links and found what he was looking for. “I was right. They were stolen.” He scanned the article and clicked on the image. “Looks like someone came in with some big equipment and cleared out some architecture and artifacts, including these pillars.” Sam moved his face closer to the screen to get a better look at the picture and his eyes widened. “Holy crap. Look at this.”

Dean pulled the laptop, turning it and looked at the picture. “What am I lookin' at?”

“Those are our pillars before they were removed.” Sam tapped the top of the screen. “All that stuff that looks like earth around the bases? They used to be people. The article says they believe dozens of residents of Pompeii huddled around the pillars during the eruption and died there.” He shook his head sadly. “It says as their remains calcified, they became part of the marble of the pillars.”

“Part of?” Dean stared in surprise and then groaned. “That's why the s alt-and-burn didn't work on that hunk of rock of yours.”

Sam nodded. “Their DNA's actually bonded with the stone. The holy water probably won't work forever either. I think we need a purification ritual.” He pulled the laptop back to him and started a new search, muttering to himself.

Dean shook his head fondly and started gathering up the papers and blueprints. “Come on. You can get your geek on back at the motel. Need to change the bandage on that burn.”

“Yeah.” Sam grudgingly agreed and put the laptop away. He slid out of the booth and steadied Dean while he got back to his feet, hunched over his ribs.

“Ow. Man I hate bruised ribs.” Dean straightened and pulled a twenty out of his pocket, tossing it on the table for a tip. The meal may be free, but hell if he wasn't going to leave the money anyway.

**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-**

“This is going to be a problem.” Sam leaned back and pushed the laptop away. “The only rituals I can find that might work all involve immersing the pillars in holy water. How the hell are we gonna do that?”

“Sure as hell not carryin' those heavy ass things outta there.” Dean groaned and sat up. He pulled his leather over with a sudden thought. “Forgot I had the dead guy's phone.” He pulled it out of the pocket and turned it on. “Let's just see who he talked to last before he died. Someone had to give him that damn rock.” He scrolled through the contacts on Jackson Leeds' phone, found his call log, and he scowled. “Dude. Jackson's last call? Mrs. Molly Dunkirk. According to this, it was right after we left her place.”

“Maybe she was just calling to warn him we were coming.” Sam shrugged.

“No way.” Dean turned the phone off and tossed it on the bed. “There's something hinky with that woman, I'm tellin' you.”

“You might be right.” Sam pulled over one of the folders of paperwork and started flipping through it. “I was looking through the purchase orders before.” He pulled out two of them and took them over to his brother. “Here, look at these.”

Dean took them. “What?”

“The signatures.” Sam pointed. “They're close, but the signature on the purchase order for those pillars? Not Mathew Dunkirk's. Someone did a pretty good job trying to copy his signature though.”

Dean scowled. “Bet you twenty I know who it was. What I wanna know is how the hell she did it?”

“If it is his wife, she had to know how to summon their spirits.” Sam sat on his own bed and cradled his aching, burned wrist. “I mean, those spirits didn't just decide to wake up once the pillars were installed in the restaurant. Someone had to summon them.”

“Witch,” Dean said angrily. “I friggin' hate witches.”

Sam smiled. “Well, if she is a witch, she's not a very good one. I can see her doing it to off her husband. I mean, the guy couldn't keep it in his pants according to everyone who knew him, but those spirits have hurt a hell of a lot more people. I don't think she really knows what she's doing.”

“Or she just doesn't give a damn.” Dean stood and grabbed his jacket. “I think we should pay the not-so-grieving widow a visit.”

“Oh, yeah, this is going to go well.” Sam followed Dean outside and squinted in the late day sun. “There's no way she's just going to fix whatever she did to call those spirits. We're still gonna have to take care of those pillars.”

“Hey, I can be pretty damn persuasive when I want to be.” Dean grinned and then scowled as he ran his hand over the buckled metal of the Impala's hood. “And I personally wanna thank her for this.”

“You can't kill her, Dean,” Sam warned his brother, mostly teasing.

“Doesn't mean I can't scare the bitch.” Dean climbed behind the wheel with a dark smile.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

_To Be Continued..._


	5. Chapter 5

_Sam smiled. “Well, if she is a witch, she's not a very good one. I can see her doing it to off her husband. I mean, the guy couldn't keep it in his pants according to everyone who knew him but those spirits have hurt a hell of a lot more people. I don't think she really knows what she's doing.”_

_“Or she just doesn't give a damn.” Dean stood and grabbed his jacket. “I think we should pay the not-so-grieving widow a visit.”_

_“This is going to go well.” Sam followed Dean outside and squinted in the late day sun. “There's no way she's just going to fix whatever she did to call those spirits. We're still gonna have to take care of those pillars.”_

_“Hey, I can be pretty damn persuasive when I want to be.” Dean grinned and then scowled as he ran his hand over the buckled metal of the Impala's hood. “And I personally wanna thank her for this.”_

_“You can't kill her, Dean,” Sam warned his brother, mostly teasing._

_“Doesn't mean I can't scare the bitch.” Dean climbed behind the wheel with a dark smile._

**Chapter 5**

Dean knocked loudly on the front door of the Dunkirk house and flicked a glance at his brother beside him. “I'm gonna rattle her cage. You see if you can find anything interesting while I'm doing that.”

“Somehow I'm betting she didn't leave her witch's 'how to' book sitting on the coffee table.” Sam quickly hid his frown with a smile as the door opened and Molly Dunkirk looked out at them. He saw the brief flash of surprise on her face before she could hide it and knew instinctively that she had hoped them dead. “Mrs. Dunkirk. I'm afraid we have some bad news.”

“Oh?” Molly raised a brow and stubbornly didn't open the door wide enough for the men to come in.

“Yeah. Your architect's toast.” Dean reached out and gave the door a shove. “And we need to ask you some questions about Jackson Leeds. So, you wanna talk here or down at the station?” It was a bluff that almost always worked and, sure enough, it did again.

Molly paled and then shook her head. “No. Of course not. Fine, come in.” She moved aside as Dean walked in with Sam at his back.

“Aren't you curious?” Dean asked and watched her walk into the living room. He nodded as Sam slipped off down the hall.

“About what?” Molly went to the side table and poured herself a drink.

“I told you Jackson Leeds is dead and you don't even ask how?” Dean saw her carefully smooth a dark look from her face before she took a drink of the whiskey. “Lot of people seem to be turnin' up dead around you lately.”

“I don't know what you mean, agent.” Molly shrugged. “And of course I want to know what happened to Jack.”

“How'd you do it?” Dean was sure now. He had no more doubts that somehow she was behind it all. “How'd you get them to do your dirty work for you? And sloppy job, by the way. But I'm thinkin' you don't much care about the collateral damage.”

Molly's mouth opened in an 'O' of surprise and then her eyes narrowed. “Where's the other one?” She set the tumbler of whiskey down. “Where did he go? You're not agents at all, are you?”

“You just worry about me.” Dean moved to cut her off before she could leave the room to find Sam. “Whatever you did, you need to undo it. Un-summon the damn things.”

Molly backed up a pace and gave him a look of disgust. “Why would I do that? They should have killed both of you along with Jack. Why aren't you dead?”

Dean shook his head. “Wow. I thought you'd at least try and deny it longer.” He snorted a laugh. “I'm gonna assume you know about hunters. We’re hunters.” He smiled when Molly's face paled. “Lucy, you got some 'splainin' to do.”

“Shit,” Molly gasped and backed away another step.

“So, you're a witch.” Dean pulled his gun and aimed it at her before she could decide to try something stupid.

“No.” Molly shook her head and then shrugged. “Well, I wasn't. My mother, though...” She smiled. “Mom used to tell us stories about what she did to a couple hunters that came after her when she was young. You'd have liked it. There was blood and screaming and begging.”

Dean grimaced. “Whatever. I just want you to undo whatever it is you did.”

“I never really put a lot of stock in mom's stories.” Molly went on as though Dean hadn't spoken and started pacing slowly across the living room, watching the gun aimed so carefully at her. “Until I got tired of Mathew sticking the family jewels in any slut who'd give him the time of day. He insulted me.”

“Lady, I don't give a crap if he slept with the entire local volleyball team. You killed innocent people and it stops now.” Dean moved again to stop her from getting out of the room.

“Your partner's looking for my altar, isn't he?” Molly asked suddenly and chuckled. “He probably shouldn't do that.” She grinned at the flash of concern that went across Dean's face. “I mean, I'm kind of new at all this witchcraft stuff, but I'm pretty sure I got those trap spells drawn right.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Dean took a step closer to her and tightened his grip on his gun. “Sam?” he called. There was no answer, and fear for his brother went through him in a rush.

“You should probably go check on him.” Molly smiled and it wasn't friendly. “He might even still be breathing.”

Dean snarled. “Screw it.” He took the three steps to her while her eyes widened in fear and surprise and slammed the butt of his gun into her temple. She dropped unconscious to the floor in a heap. Dean went to the heavy curtains on the windows and tore one of the ties loose. “You better hope my brother's alright, lady,” Dean threatened as he knelt beside her. He quickly rolled Molly Dunkirk to her stomach and tied her hands behind her back. The knots were probably too tight, but Dean was fresh out of mercy just then.

“Sammy?” Dean called as he rose to his feet and ran out into the hall. “Sam, answer me!” He heard nothing and stopped in the hall, trying to think where Sam would have gone to look first. “Basement.” He went quickly to the back of the house and the kitchen, looking for a door downstairs. Dean had his hand on a knob when he heard a loud thump from above him.

“Sam!” Dean turned and ran back out to the hall. He dashed up the stairs to the second floor and ran down the hall there. “Sammy? You here?” He heard another thump and kicked open a door at the end of the hall.

“Shit,” Dean breathed and staggered to a stop just inside the door. The room didn't have much in it. There was a table on the far side of the room, which was clearly Molly's altar. It was covered in a rich, dark red, velvet cloth. Candles guttered at the corners, shedding their light on various bottles and jars, a wide, shallow bowl, and an old, tattered book that was likely her mother's grimoire. It was the center of the room, though, that stole the breath from him. Sam lay spread-eagle on the floor. Leafy, green vines crawled and twisted over him with a soft rustling sound, almost obscuring his body, and on the ceiling above him, a circle filled with arcane symbols glowed red. Sam's right foot raised up as Dean watched and then thumped into the floor one last time before going still.

“Sam!” Dean burst into motion. He jerked toward his brother, but stopped just below the edge of the circle. He aimed his gun up and fired into the ceiling. The bullet embedded into the plaster, obliterating part of the design and the red light flashed and died. “Shit.” Dean moved the last few feet and dropped to his knees in the vines. He put his gun away and reached for Sam's head. He could see his dark hair and a sliver of skin but Sam wasn't moving anymore and neither were the vines.

“Come on. Don't you do this,” Dean begged as he feverishly began pulling and tearing the vines away from Sam's head and shoulders. He cleared his brother's face and pulled the leafy tendrils away from his shoulders with a grunt of effort only to find several more had wrapped around Sam's throat. “Why does this shit always go for your neck?” Dean attacked the vines and tore them loose, throwing them away from Sam's neck and pressed his fingers into the skin, looking for a pulse.

Dean heaved a sigh of relief when he felt the steady thrum under his fingertips and leaned down over his brother's face. He felt the slight puff air as Sam exhaled and grinned as he leaned back and took his brother's face in his hands. “Sammy.” He tapped Sam's cheek firmly and gave his head a little shake. “Sam. Wake up. Nap time's over.”

Sam groaned and followed the sound of his brother's voice. He blinked and opened his eyes to find Dean leaning over him. “Dea...” Sam broke into a cough and curled over on his side. He felt Dean's hand on his back and closed his eyes in relief that he could breathe again. For a moment, he'd thought it was over, that this would be the one time Dean wasn't fast enough to save him. “Thanks.”

Dean winced at the hoarse sound of his brother's voice and patted his back. “Got Molly tied up downstairs. Stay still for a minute.” He leaned back and started tearing the rest of the vines from Sam's body, tossing them away in clumps as he freed him. He hissed through his teeth when he cleared Sam's right arm and found fresh blood welling through the bandages over his burned wrist. “Damn.”

Sam moaned softly and pulled his arm to him and away from Dean. “Crap, that hurts.”

“Yeah. That ain't gonna be pretty.” Dean took Sam's left arm and pulled him up. “You stand on your own while I take care of that altar?”

Sam nodded and waved his brother off. “Yeah. Go. It's probably not gonna stop the spirits though.”

“Didn't figure it would.” Dean stood and went to the altar. He shrugged and grabbed one of the candles, using it to light the cloth that covered it in various places. He moved back as the flames caught and moved up the table until they had engulfed the grimoire. “That oughta do it. Come on.”

Sam got to his feet and kicked the last of the vines away from him. “You really didn't kill her?”

“Not even when she said she was probably killin' you.” Dean gave him a dark smile. “I oughta get a damn medal for that, little brother.”

Sam chuckled and let Dean take his shoulder and steady him out of the room. “You're growing as a person. I'm impressed.”

“Better be.” Dean went down the stairs ahead of Sam and took out his gun. He reached the bottom and turned into the living room. He stopped and tensed. “Son of a bitch.” Dean put a hand back and stopped Sam in the door. “She's gone.”

“Are you serious?” Sam asked in surprise and looked over his brother's shoulder. He saw a length of cord in a tangle on the floor. “No one ever gets out of your knots.” He smirked. “Except me. So how the hell did she get free?”

“Dude. She's a witch.” Dean snarled and lowered his gun. His gut told him she was long gone. “She's probably halfway out of town by now.”

Sam rubbed his left hand over his sore throat and nodded. “We need to get to the restaurant and take care of those pillars. We can track her down later.”

“Alright. Let's go.” Dean turned and led the way back out of the house. “Hope that altar of hers takes out the whole house. That would make me feel better.”

Sam smiled and looked up the stairs before he stepped outside. He could see the flicker of firelight in the hall and knew that the house was going to burn down. “Hopefully, the fire will get rid of anything else she has in here that's dangerous.”

Dean scowled again at the bent hood of his car as they walked down the lawn. He opened his door and climbed in, pulling it closed in unison with his brother. “You sure about this ritual?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. It should work. We just have to keep the spirits off our asses long enough for me to get through it.” He held up his right arm and started peeling the bandage off, trying not to give in to the whine of pain that tried to crawl out of his chest.

“You could let me do that when we get there.” Dean watched Sam's face pale and shook his head. “Stubborn.”

“Gee.” Sam panted and peeled the last of the bandage away. “Can't imagine... who I learned that from. Shit.”

“Take it easy.” Dean couldn't help but grimace in sympathy at the red, raw bleeding flesh. He sighed and looked back to the road. “I'm takin' you to a clinic when we're done. That needs to be looked at.”

“It's a burn.” Sam shook his head and tried not to tremble with the pain. “It'll be fine.”

“It's not just a burn. That is bad, Sammy. Really bad. You're letting a doctor look at it and that's that.” Dean glared over at him and turned down the road to the restaurant.

Sam let his head fall back and didn't say anything. He knew that tone in his big brother's voice and there was no arguing with it. If he was honest with himself, he knew Dean was probably right. It needed more attention than they could do themselves. He closed his eyes and worked to tamp down the level of pain he was feeling. They had a job to do.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

Dean climbed the last few rungs of the ladder to the roof of Mathew Dunkirk's restaurant, swung his leg up and then stopped to lean on the safety rail of the ladder and catch his breath. The moon was just rising in a clear night sky and gave him enough light to see by. Climbing with bruised, probably sprained, ribs was hell, and he groaned softly before making himself move again. He looked down and saw Sam's upturned face at the bottom watching worriedly. He'd vetoed his brother making the climb since Sam was barely walking straight after Dean had re-bandaged his right wrist.

“Watch your back,” Dean called and turned back to the roof. He grinned at the water tower off to the right. “Gotta admit, this is one of your better ideas, Sammy.”

Dean went quickly to the tower and took a deep breath before climbing the narrow ladder on its side. When he reached the sloped roof, he found the small access hatch and pulled it open. “Here we go.” He pulled a rosary out of his pocket and held it over the water. “Exorcizo te, creatura aquae. In nomine dai patris omnipotentis et in virtute sancti.” Dean's voice carried softly over the roof as he completed the chant and then dropped the blessed rosary into the water.

Sam stood watch nervously with his shotgun held ready for any sign of the spirits of Pompeii. He breathed a breath of relief when he looked up and saw his brother reappear and start down the ladder. “Took you long enough,” he said with a smile when Dean neared the bottom.

“Shut up.” Dean resisted the urge to jump the last few feet in deference to his ribs and stepped free of the ladder. He picked up his shotgun from where it leaned against the back wall of the restaurant. “Ok, let's do this.”

Sam walked side by side with Dean around to the front of the restaurant and let his eyes roam the moonlit darkness around them. “They're not just going to sit back and watch while we do this, you know.”

“Yeah, they're gonna be pissed.” Dean chuckled and stopped when they reached the front door. “Don't worry. I'll keep 'em off your ass long enough for you to do the ritual.”

Sam followed Dean inside and went hurriedly into the massive dining room. He walked to the center of the empty floor so the seven pillars stolen from Pompeii surround him. He pulled a black grease pen from his pocket and knelt. “Get ready.”

Dean nodded. He found a chair and dragged it over under one of the many fire sensors around the ceiling while Sam began drawing a pentagram on the white marble floor. “This place would have been pretty damn impressive if the guy had lived to finish it.”

“Who says it still won't be?”

Dean spun, bringing up his gun as the woman's voice flowed into the room and found Molly Dunkirk ten feet away and glaring at him. “Sam!” He fired instinctively, wishing it was more than rock salt speeding toward her. It never struck. The round was stopped in the air inches from her chest and fell to the floor. “Oh, crap.”

“You should have killed me when you had the chance.” Molly laughed and then flung out her hands, one at Dean and the other at Sam.

Dean gasped as he was picked off his feet and thrown across the dining room. He saw Sam go flying in the other direction and heard his brother slam hard into something and then only silence. “Shit,” he gasped and rolled to his side with an arm across his ribs. He'd managed to protect them mostly from the impact but the slide across the marble floor hadn't done him any favors.

Molly looked down at her hands, flexed her fingers, and then looked back to Dean. “I'm really starting to get the hang of this now.”

“Sammy?” Dean called. He sent a glance to his brother as he got to his knees and tried to keep breathing around the fear that rose up in his throat. Sam hadn't moved. He was wrapped around the base of one of the pillars and frighteningly still.

“Is he dead, do you think?” Molly asked and sounded like she was asking about the weather. She grinned. “Let's see if I can get as lucky with you the second time.”

“Bullshit,” Dean snarled and pulled his gun from his back as he rushed to his feet and behind a mirrored support beam for the ceiling. He looked toward Sam again and could just make out his brother's dark head. He still hadn't moved and Dean was out of patience.

“Hiding won't save you, Dean.” Molly said in a sing-song voice and walked toward the center of the room to try and get a look at him around the pillar. She flicked a glance to his fallen partner and shrugged. “If you don't come out, I'll just start with him. I don't think he's actually dead yet, but how about I find out?”

“Go to hell.” Dean came out firing. He got three shots off before the power shoved him backwards again. He slid across the floor on his back and fetched up hard against the wall. His vision threatened to tunnel in with the hit to his head, but he refused to give in and kept his eyes open. He heard an enraged scream and focused finally on Molly. She was on her knees, holding her left arm just below the shoulder, and he could see blood spattering to the floor beside her. Dean grinned. “Bet that hurts, bitch.”

“You bastard!” Molly shouted and pulled her now-useless left arm closer to her while the pain roared through her. “I'll make you pay for that!” She brought her right hand up to hurt Dean again and stared in confusion as one of the burned spirits appeared between them. “Get out of the way!” She yelled at it. When it didn't move, she flicked her hand at it, but her power had no effect.

“You know, Molly,” Dean said as he slowly and painfully got back to his feet. “Most spirits...” he had to stop and gasp a breath in, holding his head while it spun. “Most spirits don't like to be used. Bet you haven't been back here since you summoned them, huh?”

“Get away from me,” Molly warned and stumbled to her feet. She backed up a step as the smell of burning flesh filled her senses. “I called you! I brought you here! You do what I say! Kill him!” She pointed toward Dean, but the spirit ignored her while a second and third ghost appeared to surround her.

“Lady, you are screwed,” Dean said grimly and started inching around the dining room toward his brother. “And I am all outta mercy. You can rot in your own damn bed.” He turned his back and went to Sam, sliding to his knees beside his little brother as Molly's first scream rang through the room. “Sammy. Come on,” Dean took Sam's shoulder and rolled him carefully to his back. He stared at the blood coating the left side of Sam's face and tapped his cheek. “Geez, she got you good, kiddo. Come on. Wake up. We do not have time for this.” He looked over his shoulder and wished he hadn't. Molly was going to her knees and her screams were quickly becoming little more than choked wheezes for air from lungs that could no longer function. The three spirits each had a hand on her and Dean watched as first her clothes and then her body began to crisp and blacken. Smoke poured up from her clothes as her hair vanished in a flash of fire and finally the horrifying sounds of her dying stopped. She toppled to the floor with a sickening crunching sound and the spirits flickered away.

“Sam.” Dean gave his brother's shoulder a small shake and was at last rewarded with a low groan, and a moment later, Sam's eyes began to flutter open. “Shit, Sammy. That's it. Come back to me.”

“Dean?” Sam opened his eyes and saw two of his brother leaning over him. He squinted against the pain crashing through his head, trying to remember what had happened. When he did, he jerked upright only to gasp and collapse over into Dean as pain slammed through his ribs. “Ah, G... God.”

“Easy. Take it easy.” Dean supported Sam against him and kept wary eyes on the room around them. “I hate to make you move, little brother but we are out of time. We need to get this ritual done before we're toast.”

“Molly?” Sam asked and lifted his aching head.

“Toast,” Dean said simply and helped ease Sam up to sit on his own. He saw his brother's shotgun a few feet away and stretched to grab it. “All you gotta do is sit in the pentagram and say the ritual. You do that?”

Sam considered for a moment and then nodded. “Yeah. Just... get me over there. Was almost done.”

Dean took him at his word and slowly and carefully lifted his brother to his feet. He steadied him when Sam swayed and helped him across the floor. “Ok, here we go. Easy. Sit down.” He lowered Sam back to the floor.

“I got it. Go.” Sam picked up the grease marker that he had dropped, grateful it hadn't rolled somewhere out of sight. He leaned carefully over and quickly finished drawing the last two lines of the pentagram.

“Right.” Dean hefted Sam's shotgun, putting his pistol away and went to the chair he'd dragged over earlier. He climbed up shakily onto the seat and took a lighter out of his pocket. Dean spun the flame to life and held it up to the fire suppression sensor. It took almost thirty seconds and then there was a loud, electronic chirp of warning and suddenly water began to stream and spray from the ceiling to cover the dining room, the pillars and them. Dean climbed back down off the chair and raised the shotgun while holy water cascaded into his eyes and three of the spirits of Pompeii flickered back into life between him and Sam.

“Showtime.”

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_To Be Continued..._


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Last chapter! Phew! And just in time as I'll be leaving Tuesday for Seattle and the SPN Convention! EEP! Can't. Flipping. Wait!
> 
> Special note for Janice. I was a little stuck in the restaurant and she made a, uh, magma-rrific suggestion and got me rolling again. She is awesome. LOL 
> 
> Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :D– Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.  
> **Follow me on Facebook as "Disasteriffic Kaz" for frequent fic updates or just to chat!  
> ~Reviews are Love~

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_“All you gotta do is sit in the pentagram and say the ritual. You do that?”_

_Sam considered for a moment and then nodded. “Yeah. Just... get me over there. Was almost done.”_

_Dean took him at his word and slowly and carefully lifted his brother to his feet. He steadied him when Sam swayed and helped him across the floor. “Ok, here we go. Easy. Sit down.” He lowered Sam back to the floor._

_“I got it. Go.” Sam picked up the grease marker that he had dropped, grateful it hadn't rolled somewhere out of sight. He leaned carefully over and quickly finished drawing the last two lines of the pentagram._

_“Right.” Dean hefted Sam's shotgun, putting his pistol away and went to the chair he'd dragged over earlier. He climbed up shakily onto the seat and took a lighter out of his pocket. Dean spun the flame to life and held it up to the fire suppression sensor. It took almost thirty seconds and then there was a loud, electronic chirp of warning and suddenly water began to stream and spray from the ceiling to cover the dining room, the pillars and them. Dean climbed back down off the chair and raised the shotgun while holy water cascaded into his eyes and three of the spirits of Pompeii flickered back into life between him and Sam._

_“Showtime.”_

**Chapter 6**

Dean sidestepped the three burned spirits between him and his brother so that he could see Sam again. He spotted the shotgun he'd dropped when Molly had thrown him and took a few more steps to reach it. “Sam. Start chanting already.”

Sam turned just enough to see and his eyes widened at the spirits so close to him. “Dean?”

“I got it. Do the ritual.” Dean was nowhere near as confident about his ability to keep the ghosts away from them as he sounded, but Sam needed him to be sure, or at least sound like he was. If he sounded sure, Sam would believe him. He had always believed Dean could do anything he said he would, and that apparently hadn’t changed despite their time apart. Dean knelt and picked up the second shotgun, tucking it under his arm. He tugged at his collar and wiped water out of his eyes. “Think it's getting hotter in here.”

Sam nodded and braced himself with his left arm to stay sitting up. Three more spirits appeared in front of him, and he watched as the water falling from the sprinklers began to steam as it struck their bodies. “Regna terrae, cantata Deo, psallite Cernunnos.” Sam cleared his throat and closed his eyes while he worked to keep the words of the ritual clear in his spinning head. “Regna terrae, cantata Dea psallite Aradia. Caelie Deus, Deus terrae humiliter majestati gloriae tuae supplicamus ut ab omni infernalium spirituum potestate.”

Dean shook his head in admiration as the Latin rolled off his little brother's tongue. The kid was always a wonder with the Latin, and the fact that Sam could keep the complicated ritual straight even though his brains had been rattled made Dean proud. “Crap.” Dean aimed and fired at one of the spirits as it bent toward Sam. He fired another round of rock salt and danced away from the two reaching for him while Sam's voice continued to flow with the Latin.

The temperature inside the restaurant continued to climb and Dean wished he could take his jacket off. The holy water from the sprinkler system began to steam in the air, turning the already overheated room into a virtual sauna. He blinked furiously to clear his vision of a combination of steamy mist and sweat that was running into his eyes. “Come on, Sammy.”

“In these names that are above all others...” Sam gasped to catch his breath and tried not to watch the burned men closing in on him. He jumped as Dean's shotgun sounded again and another of the spirits vanished. “... I cast a spell on them with power and purity, whether constrained by chains...” Sam's voice broke off on a scream of pain as a hand wrapped suddenly around his right shoulder and heat burned into him.

“Sam!” Dean lunged past one of the spirits and fired his last round into the burned man holding on to Sam's shoulder. “Son of a bitch! Get off him!”

Sam coughed and slumped forward. He turned his head and saw the burnt ruin of the shoulder of his jacket. The holy water only seemed to make the pain worse as it flooded through the smoking holes the spirit's hand had left in the fabric. He ducked his head against the pain and opened his mouth to continue the ritual and looked down in surprise when the marble floor beneath him began to tremble. He frowned and put a hand down. “What...” The marble was becoming hotter and hotter and the pentagram he had drawn with the grease pencil began to run.

“... the hell?” Dean finished for his brother and staggered as the floor under them shifted. “Sammy?” He reached down for his brother's good shoulder and shouted in surprise when the floor erupted beneath them. He was thrown from his feet and the air was forced from his lungs when he struck the floor and slid back. He came to a rest against the back wall of the dining room and blinked gritty eyes open. “Crap,” he groaned. Dean rolled his head up and found Sam lying over his legs and blinking dazedly up at the ceiling. “Sammy?”

“S'goin' on?” Sam slurred and lifted his head. He looked out into the dining room through the falling water from the sprinklers and his eyes went wide in shock. “Uh... Dean? Is that...”

“No way.” Dean pushed himself up, relieved that he was still holding one of the shotguns and stared.

“Volcano.” Sam shook his head slowly and let it drop back to his brother's legs. “S'volcano... in a restaurant… in Tennessee.” He started chuckling even though it made his burned shoulder ache and couldn't stop himself. “Oh... oh, man. Only us.”

“That's not right.” Dean sat up and saw several of the spirits of Pompeii flicker back and forth through the steam that was quickly filling the air around them. He shrugged out of his leather jacket and flannel. The heat was becoming suffocating. In the center of the circle Sam had first drawn, a small cone of rock and earth had broken through the marble floor. It was unmistakably a volcano. Fire spurted from the top of the cone. Smoke and ash began to belch forth with rumbles that vibrated the floor beneath them and Dean blinked in shock when he saw the first, small river of what could only be lava begin to inch its way down that cone and toward the ruined floor. “Son of a bitch.”

“Up, Sam. Come on.” Dean got his brother sitting as gently as he could and leaned him against the wall. He shoved a hand into Sam's jacket pocket and came out with the grease pencil. He handed him the shotgun. “You keep 'em off me while I draw you a new circle, ok?” He was tempted to just drag Sam up and out of the place, job unfinished, at that point. But he knew Sam would never go for it. More people would be hurt if they didn't neutralize those damn pillars. Dean clapped a hand to his brother's good shoulder and looked at him. “Ok?”

Sam nodded and worked to catch his breath through the fresh waves of pain. “Yeah. Yeah. Go.” He leveled the shotgun and braced it on one upturned knee as Dean moved clear and bent to the floor with the grease pencil. “Make it fast.” Sam was exhausted. He'd been all but finished with the ritual and now he'd have to start all over again. And the heated air, now filling with smoke and ash was making it difficult to breathe and his head was spinning. “Hate ghosts,” he groaned and fired the shotgun when one of the burned men got too close to Dean. He racked a fresh round into the chamber and nodded at his brother.

Dean drew the fresh pentagram and circle as quickly as he could. He could tell by the look on his brother's face that Sam didn't have much left in him. “One more minute, Sam.” He finished the protective circle in a rush, tossed the grease pencil aside and went to his brother. “Ok, gotta get you in there. You ready to move?”

“No.” Sam shook his head but handed the shotgun to Dean and held up his good arm. “Gotta hurry.” He coughed at the smoke filling the air and his stomach was rolling between the heat and the pain. The steam was thick enough to mist over his eyes and the world was a rainy, wet blur for Sam as he settled on his knees in the fresh circle.

“You can do this,” Dean assured his fading brother and moved so he was behind Sam, supporting him against his legs.

Sam forced his pain-addled mind to focus and started the ritual over from the beginning. “Regne terrae, cantata Deo...”

Dean grinned into the smoky, misty room as Sam's voice once more chanted out the Latin. The burned men began to close on them while the volcano rumbled. It spit ash and smoke up to the vaulted ceiling high above and more lava glowed as it poured down the sides and ate into the marble of the floor. “Back off,” he snarled and fired a round into the nearest spirit, dispersing it into the thickening cloud around them. Dean heard Sam's voice crack and break while his brother fought not to cough through the ritual. “Almost there, Sammy.”

Sam choked out the Latin and stopped, trying to take a deep breath. He doubled over in a cough for a moment and then leaned back. He cleared his throat and started in on the end of the ritual.“Constrained by chains or returned to darkness. May they never disturb the servants of the gods. Laqeuo... “ he panted for breath around the agony in his shoulder and trusted Dean to keep him alive when he felt his brother's legs as a sold weight against his back. “... deceptione nequitata. Omnis fallaciae libera nos, dominates. Audi nos.”

Sam's voice rose and he shouted the last two words hoarsely. His voice suddenly echoed as the rumbling and hissing stopped. For a moment, the only sound was their ragged breathing and the white noise of the holy water raining from the sprinklers. Even the burned spirits stopped their advance mere inches outside the circle as if frozen.

Dean kept the shotgun aimed at the spirits and his finger on the trigger. He staggered as a roar went up from the small volcano and went to his knees in a daze when bright, yellow light glowed out from each of the seven pillars. He could see it even through the smoke and steam as it lit the whole room in a dizzying display. “Sammy?”

Sam shook his head and leaned harder into his brother. “Dunno. Think that's good.”

“Friggin' better be.” Dean's voice choked off into a coughing fit as he got a lungful of smoke. He watched the steady glow from the volcano in the center of the room and his eyes went wide when he realized it was sinking back down into the floor. “Holy... holy crap. Uh...” Dean slid a hand under Sam's arm and started pulling. “Not good. Not good. Come on, move!”

“Shit.” Sam gasped and shoved with his legs while Dean dragged him back. Though the volcano was quickly sinking away, lava was still pouring from its mouth over the floor. Flames licked up the walls of the dining room and the glow emanating from the pillars finally began to fade. Sam watched as the ghosts of Pompeii flickered once and then were gone. He brought his eyes back down to the floor when he felt heat searing into the bottom of his boots. “Dean?”

“Yeah, I know.” Dean struggled back to his feet and jerked his brother up with him with a grimace of sympathy for Sam's pained yell. “Sorry.” He pulled Sam's legs away from the path of the advancing lava flow and they stumbled away and toward the front of the restaurant and safety. They were both coughing and wheezing for breath by the time they burst through the front doors and out into the cool night air.

Sam shivered as a chill breeze blew over his wet hair and clothes and went to his knees coughing with Dean beside him. He slumped into his brother and panted. “Only... only us... volcano.”

Dean laughed and then gagged, coughing out more of the smoke and ash he'd inhaled. He sat back on his heels and wiped water out of his eyes, clearing his vision now that they were finally out from under the sprinklers. “This time it's not my fault the place burned down.” He grinned when Sam flashed him a disgusted look. The grin quickly faded as he took in the state of his brother and he blew out a breath. “Gotta get you outta here.”

Sam nodded wearily. He took a deep breath to brace himself to move, but it sent him into another coughing fit. Dean had him on his feet by the time he managed to catch his breath again, and he curled over against the pain from his burned arm and shoulder. “Ow.”

“Yeah.” Dean steered his brother out to the car. He pulled open the passenger door and helped Sam ease down into the seat, then tossed the shotgun into the back on the floor. He closed the door and looked back at the restaurant. Smoke was pouring from the roof of the building by then and he could see the glow of flames as they began to eat through the walls and roof. “All that 'cause one guy couldn't keep it in his pants.” He shook his head and dashed around to the driver's side when the first, faint sound of a siren cut through the night air. “Time to go.”

“Took 'em long 'nough,” Sam muttered as his head rolled back to the seat and his eyes closed.

“Sammy?” Dean put a hand to Sam's neck as he pulled away from the restaurant and gave him a small shake. “Sam.” He didn't get an answer other than an incoherent moan. “Dammit.”

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Sam groaned softly as consciousness returned to him. The groan became a cough, and he lurched upright, trying to grab hold of his tight chest in a panic.

“Whoa! Sammy, ease up! Take it easy!”

Dean's voice helped calm Sam down and he fought to get his eyes open. He blinked blurry eyes open and found his big brother sitting beside him, holding on to his arms to keep him steady and watching him with a concerned gaze. “Dean?”

Dean grinned. “About time you rejoined the land of the living.” He watched Sam look around curiously and nodded. “Yeah, I got a good look at your shoulder in the car and decided you'd earned a trip to the nearest clinic.” He cleared his throat and shrugged. “Not to mention all the crap we inhaled in that restaurant. For the record, the docs here think you got burned when our campfire overburned its pit and got your sleeping bag.”

Sam's jaw dropped and he rolled his eyes. “Really, Dean? That's the best you could come up with?”

“Well, what the hell else was I gonna say?” Dean chuckled and eased his brother back to the bed. “Just be glad they bought it. The restaurant's been all over the news, but thankfully nobody's put two and two together. They’re actually chalking it up to, and I quote, ‘an as-yet unexplained geological event.’ Scientists from all over the world are apparently on their way here. Dude, we actually registered on the Richter scale!”  
  
Sam looked up at him with a mixture of surprise at the news and fond exasperation at Dean’s enthusiasm. “You know, Dean, we could have been incinerated in there if that thing had erupted a little more forcefully.”  
  
“Yeah, but we weren’t. Let me have my moment, Sammy. We made a volcano!”

“Okay… whatever. Too tired to argue.” Sam’s head dropped back on the pillow and he let his eyes fall closed.

“Hey, none of that! You can sleep later. I've just been waiting for you to grace me with your presence so I can bust us outta here.” Dean smiled again and patted his brother's chest.

“Us?” Sam looked at his brother again and realized that Dean was not in his customary jacket but was instead wearing a scrub top, and there was a square of red skin on the back of his right hand that could only have been from surgical tape around an IV. “Are you alright?”

Dean snorted at the worry that instantly came over Sam's face. “Dude, I'm fine.” He slapped Sam's hand away from his arm and sat back, nodding to his brother. “You kinda look like a mummy.”

Sam looked down and only then noticed that the burned portion of his right arm was wrapped in clean, white bandages and there were more wrapped around his shoulder. “Ok, ow.” Now that he was looking at them, he could feel the pain from the burns.

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, no kidding.” He didn't see any point in telling Sam how close he had come to not breathing during the drive to the clinic. Dean had pulled Sam virtually into his lap as they drove just to be sure he could hear the ever-weakening wheezes coming from him. “They said your lungs are probably gonna feel weird for a week or two from all the crap you inhaled.” He slapped Sam's arm and stood. “And you gotta work hard and take five deep breaths every hour so you don't get pneumonia.” He scowled at Sam. “I am not gonna sit through horking up gobs of lung-snot. Deep breaths, dude. Now.”

Sam laughed and settled back into the bed. “Whatever. You totally would. And what about you? You inhaled all the same crap I did.”

“Shuddup.” Dean tugged his scrub top and ran a hand through his hair. “Ok fine I got the same orders but I know how to do what I'm told. Shut up,” he warned Sam and rolled his eyes at his brother's laugh. “I'm gonna go find you some wheels and we'll get out of here.”

“Dude, I can walk.” Sam tossed the thin blanket back away from him and swung one leg over the side of the bed and then other as he sat up and groaned. “Less questions that way.”

Dean scowled and watched as Sam got himself upright and then slid off the bed to stand. He jumped forward and caught him when Sam's legs wobbled and went out from under him. “Oh, yeah. You can walk just fine.”

Sam sent a weak glare to his brother and forced his legs to cooperate. “I'm fine. Just... where are my clothes?”

Dean snickered at the grumpy question and leaned Sam against the bed. “Well, you've got pants still.” He pulled his brother's jeans and sneakers off a shelf and handed them over. “They kinda cut your shirts and jacket off you. Gonna have to get you a new jacket.”

“Man. I liked that jacket.” Sam sat back down and tried to get his jeans back on while moving his right shoulder as little as possible.

Dean shook his head fondly and knelt down. He grabbed one of the sneakers and shoved onto one of Sam's feet. “Still think it'd be less risky if I wheeled you out of here.”

Sam pulled up his jeans and stood, balancing one hand on his brother's shoulder for a moment. “I hate that invalid crap.” He looked down at Dean and then around the room and his brows went up. “Where's your leather? It didn't burn, did it?”

Dean smiled and stood once he got his brother's other shoe on. “Nah. I snuck outta here and back to the restaurant this morning. I got lucky. It was so water-logged from the sprinklers, it didn't burn and I found it in with some of the debris they dug out of the place. It's dryin' out back at the motel.”

“This morning. How long have we been here?” Sam pulled at his scrub top and wished for a shirt.

“Uh, two days.” Dean smirked and patted his brother's good shoulder when he stared in surprise. “Yeah, you were kind of a mess.”

“They kept you here for two days, you must have been too,” Sam pointed out and raised a brow at Dean. “I'm not the only one Molly threw around.”

Dean shrugged and grinned. “I've got a hard head.” He rolled his eyes at Sam's disbelieving face. “Fine, and a concussion. It's good. Can we go now? That nurse is kinda scary, dude. She keeps tryin' to give us sponge baths and she's like sixty.”

Sam snorted a laugh and started toward the door, unsurprised when Dean came up beside him and took his arm to steady him. “Bet you wouldn't have argued if she were twenty.”

“It's like your gramma wantin' to see your family jewels, man. So wrong.” Dean laughed and peeked out into the hall for a moment. “Coast is clear. Let's boogie.”

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Sam looked down at his t-shirt in disgust. He'd spent the last five minutes trying to get it on himself, but his right shoulder refused to lift high enough, even after three days of healing since the events at the restaurant. The burns weren't so bad really, but they spanned his whole shoulder and moving it was like dipping the joint in hot acid; it hurt. “Dammit.”

“Problem, Sammy?” Dean chuckled as he came out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam and saw his brother eyeing his shirt angrily. “Dude, I think you're gonna have to skip the mutant dog shirt and just go with flannel for a week.”

“It's a greyhound.” Sam sighed and tossed the shirt back into his bag. He took the flannel Dean held out to him with a bad-tempered scowl and started pulling it on over his bandages.

“You hungry?” Dean pulled his jeans on and tossed his towel aside, picking up a shirt instead. “I'm starving. Hospital food sucks.”

Sam smiled and buttoned his shirt while Dean pulled on his boots. “Thought you could eat anything if it sat still long enough.”

Dean snorted. “Dude, there's not enough bacon on the planet to make hospital food edible, and I don't say that lightly.”

“Some day your heart's just gonna explode. You know that, right?” Sam laughed and followed his brother outside.

“I'd hit you but I don't wanna carry you.” Dean resisted the urge to slap Sam's shoulder however much the big brother in him wanted to screw with the kid. They walked side by side down the street toward the diner. Dean tensed when they reached the alley where they had saved the waitress and Sam had almost died. He looked in as they walked and a glare overtook his face. “Watch it, Sammy.”

“Yeah, I see 'em.” Sam saw two of the men that had attacked the waitress just inside the mouth of the alley. They looked over at him and Dean, and the looks on their faces were nothing short of violent. “I think they're pissed.”

“Well, what do ya' know? Me too,” Dean snarled and stopped to trade glares with them. “Somethin' you assholes want?”

“On our six,” Sam whispered and tapped his brother's elbow once to let him know he had it, the third man sneaking up behind them.

Dean gave an imperceptible nod and then a narrow smile as the two men in the alley came closer. “How's your buddy? The one we put in the hospital? 'Cause there's no way he walked away on that knee. Come to think of it...” Dean said as the men's faces darkened angrily, “... your nose don't look so good.”

“Fucker,” growled the man who's nose Dean had broken.

“Well, next time don't try to rape innocent women.” He paused and then added, “And while you’re at it, leave the not-so-innocent ones alone too.” Dean shook his arms out and waited for them to come to him. “I was kinda hopin' you assholes would get an attack of stupid and come after us again.”

“You didn't come out so well last time.” The man with the broken nose grinned at Dean.

“You got lucky. Not gonna happen this time. Come on.” Dean took a step away from his brother and heard Sam spin and throw a kick, followed by the pained grunt of someone behind him and a body hitting the ground. He grinned at the now surprised faces of the other two. “Next.”

Sam rolled his eyes and backed away from the man sprawled on the ground and senseless. “Guess he forgot the last time I kicked him.”

Dean ducked the first punch, caught the man's arm and threw him into his buddy. They slammed into the brick wall of the alley and came up yelling in anger. He circled to the side and wrapped an arm around the neck of the same man, pulling him backward off his balance. Dean kicked out his knee and, rather than let him drop, he turned and allowed the man's momentum carry him head first into the wall. He backed up two steps as the man fell unconscious and turned to face the last man -- the broken nose -- as the idiot reached into his coat.

“You pull that knife out again and this is gonna get all kinds of ugly,” Dean warned him in a low voice and waited.

The man stared at Dean, enraged, and then felt a frisson of fear run down his spine as he looked into his eyes. There was something there that screamed violence and death. Without really thinking about it, he took his fingers off the hilt of his knife and pulled his empty hand free of his coat.

Dean nodded. “Smart move. Let's get this over with.”

Sam backed up a little and kept an eye on the two downed men, making sure they weren't a danger to his brother. “Try not to kill him. The cops frown on that.”

“No promises.” Dean moved with the man as he closed with him and rolled out his neck. “Asshole cut your throat. That kinda thing pisses me off.”

“Oh, man,” Sam groaned and resigned himself to watching Dean trash the guy, though he had earned it.

Dean slapped away the first punch the man threw and rammed his fist into his face. It rocked the man's head back on a pained shout. While he was distracted, Dean reached into the man's jacket, found the knife there and pulled it out before he could think twice. He tossed it away under the dumpster and gave him a dangerous grin. “Not done already, are ya'?”

“M'gonna kill you!” The man rushed Dean headlong in a fury.

Dean landed a kick to his solar-plexus worthy of his little brother. All the air whooshed out of the man's lungs. Dean didn't give him time to recover. He pulled back and landed a punch on his jaw that spun his head sideways. While he was reeling, he swept his legs out and followed him to the ground with another solid punch to his jaw that left the man unconscious and bleeding profusely from his nose. He stood, wiped off his hands and grinned. “Never screw with m'brother, asshole.”

Sam chuckled and slapped Dean's shoulder. “Roll him on his side so he doesn't choke on the blood.”

Dean shrugged but bent over and pulled the asshole onto his side. “There. Can't say I don't do nice things.” He straightened again and smiled cheerfully as they walked back out onto the sidewalk and headed for the diner. “Now I'm really hungry.” He glanced over to see Sam cradling his shoulder. “You good?”

Sam snorted. “Could have taken that idiot in my sleep. I heard him clomping around as soon as we got on the sidewalk.”

Dean laughed and stopped at the diner to pull open the door. He waved Sam inside and smiled even wider when he saw the waitress they had saved. “Afternoon, sweetheart.”

“You can just ignore him, Tara,” Sam told her with a laugh. “He's hopeless.”

Tara blushed prettily and followed them to a table. “What are my heroes up to today?”

“Just got done takin' out the trash and worked up an appetite.” Dean grinned at her.

Sam shook his head with a smile and slapped Dean in the face with a menu. “Order something already.”

Dean leaned back with the menu, watching the sway of Tara's hips as she laughed and went to get them coffee. He looked over at his little brother, burned and bandaged but alive and amused, and grinned. “Sammy, this has been a damn good day.”

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_The End._


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